


Hear the Wolf

by jonsasnow



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Lyanna is not a Stark, Not a Crossover, R plus L equals J, Sam/Gilly, Slow Burn, aka joffrey is an asshole, harry potter world, jk i dont really know, jonsa, so slow its glacial, trigger warning: physical/emotional abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-14 11:17:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 46,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8011561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonsasnow/pseuds/jonsasnow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At night, she feels his touch, his hot breath on her skin. She sees his light eyes trailing over her body, looking for weaknesses he can pounce on. She thinks this is it. This is when the lion sinks his teeth into his prey.</p><p>But there's a howling in the distance and Sansa awakes from the nightmare, heart pulsing like a drum against her chest, and she knows she is safe. The wolf will protect her. </p><p>Hogwarts may be made of stone but she is made of steel. </p><p>(Alternative Summary: The Starks are in Hogwarts. Sansa has to learn to stand up to her ex-boyfriend and Jon has to learn to face his past. They're determined to do it alone. Will they ever admit they're stronger together?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> UPDATED NOTE [30/DEC/16]: 
> 
> Welcome to my first proper JonSa fanfic! 
> 
> This is a story of hope, survival, strength and trust. Just as much as it is about love and passion. It does touch on some very mature themes so please be aware of the tagged warnings. The issues mentioned in this fic are ones I feel strongly about and this is an exploration of them through a beloved character.
> 
> With that said, I sincerely hope you enjoy it. Comments are always, always welcome and I try my best to respond to every single one. If I can't for whatever reason, know that I appreciate it all soo much and I'm always so humbled and honoured that you guys have even read it to begin with. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy! <3

When Sansa is six, she learns a terrible lesson in heartbreak. She cries and cries into her mother’s warm embrace and asks why he has to go, why is this woman stealing him from her, and her mother just holds her till the cries fade to a hiccup and Sansa falls asleep curled into her side. In the morning, her parents sit her down and explain to her that Jon isn’t being stolen. He is going home to his mother. Sansa still doesn’t understand but they promise she’ll still see him so she is placated for awhile. When it becomes clear the Snows are moving abroad and Sansa won’t see him again, she learns what betrayal feels like and resists the urge to cry again. 

If Jon does not love her, she will not love him either. 

Sansa is nine when he returns and she feels a strange aloofness between them. The Jon she remembers of her childhood is not the boy who moves in next door, who plays and laughs with Robb, who teaches Arya how to throw a quaffle or Bran and Rickon how to climb a tree. She resolves a month after his return that she does not like him at all. He is boring and serious and does not shower her with compliments and attention like the men do in the stories she reads late into the night. And it is just as well because he doesn’t seem to like her either. 

The following year, Jon and Robb leave for Hogwarts. She misses her brother terribly but tries not to spare a thought for Jon. On occasion, she does wonder if he is eating well because Jon does have a terrible inclination for not eating enough fruits. They have spent many mornings with him for Sansa to know this. She thinks he needs his fruits if he’s to join the quidditch team as she knows he wants to from the many times Robb, Jon and Arya discuss what position they’ll play and how they can’t wait for the chance to try out. Sansa always scoffs at them when they do and tells them that quidditch is a game for barbarians but they roll their eyes at her and Arya tells her to go back to her songs and stories. 

Sansa will never admit this but it always hurt when they do that. It always hurts to know how different she is to her family. 

So it isn’t with much surprise when Sansa is sorted into Ravenclaw while Robb is a Gryffindor, and eventually Arya too when she joins two years after Sansa. Even Jon is a Gryffindor and he isn’t even blood. She hates him for it. She thinks he’s stealing her rightful place by her family’s side, but she fits Ravenclaw more as the years pass by and the distance to the others eases when Bran is sorted into Ravenclaw with her. Rickon ends up being the lone wolf in Hufflepuff but as the baby he is hardly without a Stark (or a Snow) by his side.

When Sansa is fifteen, she learns a new lesson in heartbreak. She learns that boys will lie and they will cheat and they will take what they want without asking and stomp on your heart for their own pleasure. And in the cold dimly lit corridor of the third floor, Sansa learns that Joffrey Baratheon is a spoiled, cruel prick, as he slides his hand up her thigh, skimming the bare leg under her skirt despite her trying to push him off. 

But she also learns that day that there is a side to Jon Snow that no one else sees. Quiet, solemn and serious as he is most of the time, Jon is also ferocious and dangerous, and when he sees them, he rips Joffrey from her body and slams a fist into his face - not once but two, three times, till blood is dripping down the blonde’s face. 

Joffrey scampers away after that and Sansa makes Jon promise never to tell anyone. He is reluctant to do so but he promises. 

That day she remembers the Jon of her childhood – of the boy who held her hand everywhere she went, who growled if someone came too close and she didn’t like it, who stole sweets to give to her and who cuddled her when she was sleepy. Jon her Protector, the adults called him.

Sansa thinks things will change between them after it but nothing does and she doesn’t know if she’s glad for it or disappointed that there is still a miserable aloofness between them. She doesn’t dwell long because Joffrey has remade her in steel and she pushes away what makes her feel vulnerable and Jon makes her feel too vulnerable. 

But as she’s starting to learn, everything changes eventually.


	2. Haunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new school year begins and with it Sansa struggles to put the past where it belongs. Or maybe it's her past that refuses to leave her alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I had most of this written anyways sooo I thought I might as well finish it and update asap :) 
> 
> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> And I'm sorry if certain characters aren't exactly as they are in the books/show (especially with Jeyne - I'm taking some liberties with her in this fic). I do hope you enjoy it all the same!

**Jon:**

When Robb is handed the Head Boy badge, no one is surprised. He’s a Stark and they’re a legacy family so everyone knows they’re meant to lead, but Sam asks if he’s jealous when it’s just the two of them and Jon laughs. Leading isn’t something he wants and he’s only glad that now Robb can stop sulking every time someone reminds him that Jon was named quidditch captain in their fifth year, making him the youngest to be named so in a long while. Now Robb has his own bragging rights and Jon is really, _genuinely_ happy for his best friend. 

On the same day, Jon learns that Joffrey Baratheon has been named Slytherin’s new quidditch captain and he feels the anger rise up in his throat and he can only think of barbaric things like cutting off his head and placing it on a spike in front of the Stark manor to warn off anyone that might want to hurt her again. 

Robb is surprised by the intensity and raises a questioning brow his way. “I hate the guy too but you look like you would rather eat your own arm than be near him.” 

He would rather make Joffrey eat his own arm for simply existing but it’s not too far off. “He’s a scumbag,” Jon answers simply and Robb shrugs. 

It has always killed him to keep such a secret from his best friend but he promised her and he won’t betray that promise. They may not be close, not as they once were when they were no taller than a house elf, but she's a Stark and Jon owes a lot of who he is to her family – as did his mum. So no matter how hard it is to lie to Robb or to look Ned Stark in the eyes and smile as if he hadn't witnessed his eldest daughter being violated by that son of a bitch, Jon will not betray _her_ trust. She’s been through enough. No one sees it. Sansa is good at acting but he sees. She flinches when someone gets too close and he knows she hasn’t been on a date since that day – though not for lack of propositions. Sansa is a beautiful girl and everyone in the castle knows it, but she continues to claim she doesn’t want to date when she has NEWTs coming up. Robb doesn’t pry any further because his sister not dating is a relief to him – and Arya is too focused on other things to notice, and Bran and Rickon are too young to even care. 

“How is it that _you’re_ Head Boy?” Theon asks when he finds them on the train. “Hogwarts has gone to the dogs I swear it.” 

“Jealousy is an awful colour on you, Greyjoy,” Robb laughs as he leans back and plops his feet onto Jon’s lap. Jon rolls his eyes and pushes them off. 

They continue to bicker for the next hour and Jon is relieved when Ygritte knocks on the compartment door and leads Jon to a secluded corner on the train. He pushes her up against the wall and kisses her till he can hear that happy little moan in the back of her throat. When Jon thinks he can’t breathe anymore, he trails light kisses down her neck to the hollow below and claims her as his with a pull of his teeth. Ygritte laughs and slaps his shoulder. 

“You’re a fast learner, Jon Snow,” she says with hooded eyes. 

“I have a great teacher,” Jon smirks and she laughs again before he cuts her off with another kiss that has them both panting and heaving until the door to a compartment opens nearby and Jon jumps from her arms. He turns with the beginning flush of embarrassment, but when he sees _her_ eyes staring back at him, he feels shame and guilt instead.

“I - I…” Sansa doesn’t finish her sentence before she races away in the opposite direction. Jon wants to run after her but Ygritte’s hand is in his and she’s pulling him back to her. 

“Do you think we’ve scarred her?” Ygritte asks with a mischievous glint in her smile. “That’s probably the most she’s ever seen anyone do.” 

Jon’s eyes snap back to hers. “What?” he asks dumbly. 

“Sansa. She’s got quite ladylike sensibilities, or so I'm told,” Ygritte tells him, then clarifies when he doesn't reply. “A bit of a prude?”

“Is that what people are saying about her?” Jon snaps abruptly and drops her hand.

“Jon...” Ygritte’s face is crestfallen and he sees regret in her eyes but he doesn’t care because this is Sansa and he hates to think of anyone mocking her for things they know nothing about. “I didn’t mean… I know she’s like a sister to you. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Jon says without accepting her apology. “I… I have to get changed. We’ll be at Hogwarts soon.” He turns without a goodbye and returns to his compartment.

He wonders for the rest of the journey if he overreacted with Ygritte. He likes her, _a lot_ , and getting to know her has the been the highlight of his miserable summer, but he doesn’t think clearly when Sansa’s concerned these days. He knows she’s not his sister to fret over or even a friend in that sense but she’s still Sansa – and he still sees the terror in her face as Joffrey loomed over her when he closes his eyes. He wants to protect her but he isn’t the right person. He shouldn’t be the one to hold this secret. It should be Robb, but Robb doesn’t know and if he did, Joffrey wouldn’t be alive for his last year at Hogwarts – not that that would be a shame in the slightest. Jon has had his own daydreams of ripping the Slytherin’s limbs from his pathetic body. It’s only the flash of red hair and blue eyes that stop him. 

The Sorting goes by excruciatingly slow this year – but he cheers with enthusiasm when Rickon is sorted into Hufflepuff – and Jon longs for the comfort of his bed in the Gryffindor Tower by the end of it. He isn’t much for feasts and parties even though his appetite proves ravenous. 

“There,” Sam nudges him with his shoulder and Jon looks up. “She looks more beautiful this year, doesn’t she?” 

Jon rolls his eyes and smiles at his friend. “Aye. Are you going to finally ask her out this year?” 

“What?” he squeaks and Sam pales at the idea. “Girls like that don’t - they just don’t go for boys like me.”

This makes Jon frown. “Sam, you will never know what girls like that go for if you don’t try.” But Sam doesn’t seem convinced and the two are resigned to a companionable silence the rest of the feast. 

When Robb stands up to speak to the Gryffindor table as Head Boy, Jon is a far cry from being his attentive and supportive best friend, and when Theon cracks a lewd joke that has Robb pink at the ears, he doesn’t offer even a polite half-smile because he is already up and moving across the Great Hall when he sees her leave it. He races down the corridor and catches her on the flight of stairs as it moves to connect with another.

“Hi,” he says.

Sansa is turned into the railing, her eyes following the movement of the stairs above, and he thinks for a second she won’t look at him at all but then her eyes fix on him and Jon breathes out in relief. “Where’s your girlfriend?” she asks. 

“I don’t know,” Jon answers honestly. “I’m sorry about earlier.” 

Sansa looks surprised. “What’s there to apologise for?” 

“It must have been really gross to see me… uh, doing that,” Jon mutters as one hand rubs at the nape of his neck. 

“I’ve seen worse things,” Sansa says and she’s smiling so he’s smiling back in spite of the darkness in her humour, but he thinks he likes that about her. When neither says anything for a moment and the stairs don’t look like they want to connect to anywhere at all, Sansa turns to face him in full. “Do you think Gryffindor will win the Quidditch Cup this year?” And he hears her unvoiced question. 

“Without a doubt,” Jon tells her and he wills her to understand that he has no intention of letting Joffrey touch that cup in this lifetime or the next. 

“Good,” Sansa says, and then the stairs reconnect and she leaves him for the Ravenclaw Tower. He thinks of returning to the feast but it’s been a long day and he’d rather just slide under his covers and sleep till morning. 

At the end of the first full day of classes, Jon finds Ygritte and pulls her into an empty classroom. He kisses her softly then lifts her onto a table, returning his mouth down onto hers and making sure she knows he has forgiven her. Jon is not a boy of many words and Ygrittes knows there isn’t a need for them to talk about what occurred on the train. When her hand circles his neck and she wraps her legs around his waist, Jon thinks he might just lose his mind to her.

“We’re going to be late for dinner,” she says, her breath hot on his cheek. 

“I’m not hungry,” Jon tells her and he nips at the hollow of her neck. Ygritte laughs and places both of her hands on his chest and pushes. 

“Well _I_ am, Jon Snow.” She hops down from the table and takes him by the hand. “So come with me or stay here.” 

Jon follows but not before wrapping his arms around her waist from behind her and kissing her roughly on the neck. This makes her laugh more and that is the state Sansa and Arya find him in out in the corridor. Arya blanches and makes gagging noises, while Sansa remains tight-lipped. 

“I think I’ve just lost my appetite forever,” Arya says dramatically. 

Jon has already let go of Ygritte by this point but his hand remains firmly in hers. “Shut up, Arya,” he tells her and then pulls Ygritte forward. “Uh, this is Ygritte… my girlfriend. And Ygritte, this is Arya and Sansa Stark. They’re my… friends.” 

“More than friends,” Arya says with a roll of her eyes. “Our dad practically raised you.” 

“Till I was seven,” Jon explains to Ygritte, who is looking confused. He knows there is a lot about his life he doesn’t talk about but they have only been dating two months. These are things that come with time because when it comes to the matter of his family and his relationship with the Starks, it’s a long and complicated tale. 

“Okay,” Ygritte says but he knows she'll just ask him more about this later. “It’s lovely to meet you both.” 

“And you too,” Sansa says, smiling brightly at Ygritte, as she takes her hand and shakes it politely. “Well, we better get to the Great Hall.” And before either of them can say anymore, Sansa has Arya by the elbow and she’s pulling her quickly ahead of them. 

Jon and Ygritte tail behind in a more leisurely pace, though Jon’s mind is running along with her, wondering what she could possibly be thinking at that moment. 

“I don’t think she likes me,” Ygritte says after a moment’s silence. 

“Who? Arya? Arya doesn’t like anyone,” Jon reassures. 

“No. Sansa. Did you tell her about…” 

“No, of course not,” Jon says and looks down at Ygritte, who nods and shrugs. He knows the topic is done on the matter. Ygritte isn’t the type to care too much if someone dislikes her, and even if Sansa is an important part of his life, he knows she won’t go out of her way to make Sansa comfortable. It’s a part of her personality that he both loves and hates.

When they reach the Great Hall, Jon takes Ygritte over to the Gryffindor table where Robb, Theon, Sam, Sansa and Arya are seated. He doesn’t bother to introduce Ygritte to the boys when they’ve all shared classes for the better part of the past six years. 

“I hear tryouts will be at the end of the month,” Robb tells them conversationally. “And I hear Joffrey is remaking their entire team from the bottom up.” 

Sansa tenses and Jon notices it instantly. It’s only infinitesimal but the white of her knuckles as she grips her spoon is enough to have him stare a little too long at her face. It’s only when Ygritte nudges him that Jon realises they are expecting his response to this piece of news. 

“It’s a bold move,” he says. “But as a new captain? It’s a dumb move.” 

“What do you mean?” Arya asks, leaning forward, elbows on the table.

“When I first made captain, it took several months for me to get into the swing of everything,” Jon tells them. “And even longer to get the team to respect me as more than just a teammate but I was lucky. Our team was almost unchanged and I already knew how everyone worked. If Joffrey is changing everything, he’s not only going to piss off past teammates but he’s going to have to learn everyone’s strengths and weaknesses. It’s time wasted.” 

“Well good,” Sansa suddenly pipes up. She is looking straight at Jon now and there is a steely ice in her eyes that has his heart beating a little faster. “I hope he crashes and burn for everyone to see.” 

Silence falls around the table. Sansa has not talked about Joffrey since last year. They think it's because Joffrey was rumoured to be sleeping around but Jon knows better. No one dares to ask her what happened though as she'll only silence them with a look that can chill the brutest of men. Jon suspects she’s learned it from her mother. Catelyn Stark has that effect on men too. But Sansa has also never talked so forcefully about anyone in all the years Jon's known her. Unlike her siblings, she has always been quieter. There's ice in her words when she's speaking to someone she greatly dislikes but she is never cruel – never one to cause a scene. In a way, Ygritte was right. Sansa _is_ a lady, and that's why it stuns them all to hear her speak with such hostility so publically. 

“Sansa?” Robb is leaning forward to reach for his sister but she shrinks back from his touch. “What happened between you and Joffrey?” 

Jon thinks to hit his best friend on the back of his head for asking such a stupid question in front of so many people but Sansa’s scowl does it better and Robb is quickly silenced from pursuing it further. The topic quickly changes after that and they’re onto discussing the other quidditch teams and how they’ll fare this year. Arya jumps at this opportunity to talk about Hufflepuff’s Beater, Gendry Waters, and Jon suspects there’s more admiration there than the irritation she displays when talking about the big bull of a boy. 

Jon hopes Robb is too blind to notice because otherwise there might be more than one foul coming for the poor sixth year in the future. 

\---

**Sansa:**

Every day is agonisingly slow. Classes are a dull affair even if it is the start to NEWTs and Sansa really should be paying more attention but she is rolling something over and over again in her mind. It’s a thought that thoroughly distresses her and it’s this thought that has her scowling at the shelves of the library when someone sits across from her. 

“Merlin, what did those books ever do to you?” Jeyne asks as she pulls out a half-written parchment that Sansa recognises is their homework for Charms. 

“Sorry,” Sansa half-heartedly apologises. She drops her gaze and offers a warm smile for her friend. “I was just…” 

“Thinking, I know,” Jeyne cuts her off with a soft chuckle. “I know you are a great mind, Sansa Stark, and I am sure you have many thoughts in that brain of yours but you are _thinking_ a lot lately. Can I venture a guess as to what they’re of?” 

Sansa looks sceptical but shrugs. “You can try.” 

“It can’t be NEWTs already, can it?” And Sansa shakes her head so Jeyne continues on. “Then is it to do with Slytherin’s newest captain?”

A dark scowl marrs Sansa’s pale, delicate features. She cannot hide her distaste any more than she can hide her discomfort when a boy comes too near her without permission. She knows Jeyne has her suspicions over the real reason why Joffrey and her had broken up so suddenly but Sansa cannot bear to relive those memories long enough to even confide in her best friend. 

“Sansa,” Jeyne is leaning forward across the table to take Sansa’s hand in hers – a mirror of what Robb had tried to do earlier this week. “Talk to me.” 

A moment passes before Sansa is smiling and pulling away. “There’s nothing to talk about.” 

“You are a terrible liar,” Jeyne sighs and takes out a book, flipping it open to an earmarked page. “But you know where to find me when you _are_ ready.” 

“I know,” Sansa says with a little more sincerity. “I promise I’m okay… I was just thinking about… how I might want to date again.”

Jeyne snaps her book shut and beams with such unfiltered glee that it has Sansa chuckling softly. 

“Don’t joke with me, Sansa Stark. Don’t toy with my little heart.” Jeyne’s enthusiasm makes Sansa glad to have come up with that confession. Although it is not entirely true and the thought of kissing someone makes her stomach churn unpleasantly, Sansa is determined to move on from Joffrey. He will not take any more of herself than he already has. She is not his little bird. She won’t be. 

“I promise you I’m not,” Sansa says with a roll of her eyes. “Just don’t go announcing it to the castle or anything. I said I _might_ be. I haven’t even… I don’t even know if there’s anyone in this castle that I find attractive.” 

_Liar_ , a part of her shouts, but Sansa quells it with a soft shake of her head, focusing instead on Jeyne in front of her, who is speaking quickly. 

“Oh but we’ll find you someone! You just haven’t been looking properly is all.” 

Sansa doesn’t think that is likely and she suspects Jeyne is only saying it to make her feel better about it all. She is about to say so when another person flops into the seat next to Jeyne and Sansa smacks her lips tightly together.

"Hello, sister. Jeyne." Robb says and flashes them a smile that has so many of the girls in the castle flocking after him. "If by chance you see our sombre neighbour coming, can you do me a favour and warn me first? Because he is going to flay me alive for missing quidditch training tonight."

"And why have you missed quidditch training tonight?" Sansa asks with a little smirk. If there is anyone able to draw her out of the steel shell she lives in, it's her older brother. Something about being around Robb always makes her feel like a little kid again – as if it was just Robb, Jon and her running through the house and laughing till their sides hurt.

"Head Boy duties," Robb says, eyeing her warily. "That may have… There may have been… Wait, why are you looking at me like that? Sansa? No, don't!" 

Sansa smiles innocently - ever the lady. "Don't what?" 

"Don't do whatever it is your little mind has come up with," Robb tells her. "C'mon. Please? Jon's going to kill me."

"I don't know what you mean," Sansa returns but she's already out of her chair and sprinting through the library at a pace that would surely get her banned if she wasn't just a blur of red hair. She hears Jeyne calling after them and the shushing sound of Madame Gawdrey’s voice immediately after and for the first time in a long time Sansa’s laughing without care. 

She runs down the corridor, down the stairs and all the while she can hear Robb hot on her tail. 

“Sansa!” he’s shouting. “Oh come on!” 

She turns her head back to look at him. “This is for last month when you switched my toothpaste with mayonnaise!” Robb laughs before immediately straightening his features and appearing regretful, but Sansa knows her brother too well to fall for his tricks. “And for the month before when you dyed my hair pink when I was sleeping. And for -” But in her haste to remind Robb of all the ways he has pranked her this past summer, she doesn’t hear the footsteps coming towards her and when she veers around the corner, her body hits a very hard surface and there are suddenly arms holding tightly around her waist. 

“Sansa,” Jon breathes out as he’s looking down at her. “Are you okay?”

It’s hard to respond when she is altogether too aware of his hands on her and the way her body is flushed against his. Sansa can only nod so Jon pushes back gently to allow some space between them but his hands remain curled around her hips and she thinks she sees his eyes darken but that surely can't be right. Sansa doesn't have time to really scrutinise him because a moment later, Robb has caught up with her and Jon has put so much distance between them she can’t be sure.

“Oh… Jon! My _best_ friend. How are you?” Robb says with an overly bright smile. 

“Not great, Robb,” Jon says, his expression serious once more. “Had to train a team with one of our chasers missing. Might replace him actually. Kind of a deadbeat.” 

Sansa snickers and she sees the edges of Jon’s lips quirk ever-so-slightly. Robb fixes her with a glare before turning his bright smile back on and clapping Jon on the shoulder. 

“Now who would dare skip out on training when they have you as their fearless leader?” Robb questions with mock bewilderment. “Perhaps they were simply tied up with something else?” 

“Something more important than quidditch?” Jon arcs a brow as if that is the most absurd thing he has ever heard, but Sansa sees the twinkle of something else in his grey eyes that has her stifling a chuckle. 

“No, of course not,” Robb answers. “Just… things. You know, things that person might not have been able to get out of.” 

“Hmm, well,” Jon shrugs. “Can’t say I can think of a single _thing_ that warrants excusing such a person from laps around the lake at the next practice though.” 

“Oh bloody hell,” Robb says with a loud groan, which is what draws the laughter from her throat and causes Sansa to grip onto her brother’s arm as her body shakes with mirth. 

For a second as she stands there laughing with Robb frowning at her and Jon smiling in bemusement, she imagines they’re all children again and Sansa and Jon have ganged up to prank Robb together and she feels a lightness in her chest that hasn’t been there in far too long. She wants to savour it like it is the last piece of lemon cake in the world and she tries to, memorising the crinkle of Jon’s eyes as he watches her, the way her brother sighs at her side – and then it all comes falling apart, torn and ripped carelessly at the seams, as soon as she hears his voice. 

“Isn’t this a beautiful sight?” he says and Sansa drops Robb’s arm immediately, tensing. “If he wasn’t your brother, I would be so jealous, my dear Sansa.” 

She doesn’t know what to say. She knows what she wishes she _could_ say but she doesn’t have the nerve to do so. She isn’t so brave like her siblings. 

“Move along, Baratheon,” Robb says, straightening up to his full height. The tone of authority has its desired effect on Joffrey’s friend, who makes to scurry along, but the blonde-haired Slytherin stands his ground. 

“Now, now,” he says in that tone that chills her in her nightmares. “It’s hardly even curfew. I do remember corridors being a public domain.” 

“ _Move_ along,” Robb repeats again. 

“Easy,” Joffrey puts both hands up with a derisive laugh. “I just wanted to say hi to your sister and tell her she looks more beautiful everyday.” He turns his gaze onto Sansa and she recognises it instantly. It’s predatory and it’s hungry and suddenly she knows that Joffrey still has a part of her in his claws. He still possesses her even if he hasn’t touched her since last year. 

Sansa feels so weak at this realisation that she unknowingly steps away in fear. This only makes Joffrey smile more and she hates herself for playing into his games, but then, his smile falters and it is gone in its entirety when someone steps up beside her. His hand is on the small of her back, his thumb rubbing soothingly over her school uniform, and Jon puts himself between Joffrey and her.

“It is nice to see you again, Joffrey,” Jon says evenly. “Your face has healed nicely. Did you ever find out who attacked you last year?” Pleasant as his words seem on the surface, the threat is there. It’s there in the way his eyes darken till they are almost black. It’s there in the way he stands shoulder to shoulder with Robb – both boys making a formidable wall in front of Sansa. And it is there in the gruff grumble of his words as if they are spoken deep from a primal part of Jon that is less human and more… more _animal_. 

Joffrey scowls but he begins to walk away. “See you around, Sansa,” he adds, unable to help himself to a final word. Robb lurches forward but Jon puts his hand on his shoulder.

“Not the time,” he murmurs. 

Robb nods in silent understanding before he turns his eyes to hers. “Sansa… Sansa, please tell me what happened. Whatever it is, I love you and I will never…” 

“Robb, no,” Sansa cuts him off. “It’s not important. Not anymore.” She steps away from the both of them. “I should sleep. Th - _thank you_.” 

She doesn't wait for them to protest, to offer her their company back to the Ravenclaw Tower – Sansa just runs. She runs and runs until she is safely back inside her dormitory and underneath her duvet. That is when she allows the tears to fall – shamefully and uncontrollably – until sleep douses out her anguish and Sansa is thankfully pulled into a dreamless darkness, unable to hear the owl who hoots at her window, a letter in its talons. 


	3. Strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa sees strength all around her – except in herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so blown away by all of the responses! Thank you so much for taking the time out to read and comment! <3 As much as I write for myself and my love for these characters, seeing such positive feedback has given me so much muse so here's another update! 
> 
> I'm working without a beta so forgive me if there are a lot of mistakes and clunky sentences. I try to edit it out as much as I can as I go along. 
> 
> Anyway! I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> P.S. For clarification purposes:
> 
> Robb, Jon, Theon, Sam, Joffrey and Ygritte are 17. Sansa, Jeyne and Gendry are 16. Arya is 14. Bran is 12 and Rickon is 11.
> 
> As for the houses they're all in: 
> 
> Gryffindor: Robb, Jon and Arya  
> Ravenclaw: Sansa, Jeyne, Bran and Sam  
> Hufflepuff: Rickon and Gendry  
> Slytherin: Joffrey and Theon 
> 
> More explanations on how some of them became friends will come later. More characters will also be introduced and I'll let you know who's in where when they are. At the moment, these are the ages and houses. I took some liberties with how old they are because I wanted all of them to be at Hogwarts at the same time. With the houses, I tried my best to sort them where I think fits. 
> 
> Hope that clears some stuff up for you guys!

**Sansa:**

Sansa doesn’t notice the letter lying by her bedside table till later that evening and when she does she drops the mug of tea she’s holding. It shatters all over the floor, ceramic shards and hot caramel-coloured liquid flying everywhere. 

Jeyne rushes to her side and carefully manoeuvres her away from the broken shards. She sits Sansa down on the edge of her bed and takes the letter from her hand. As soon as she reads it, Sansa hears the angry hiss coming from her friend. 

“The - the bloody nerve of that guy!” Jeyne shouts and she starts to pace the room. “Who does he think he is!” 

Sansa doesn’t respond. She doesn’t know if she has the energy to respond. The thought that had plagued her in the library worms its way into her mind now and she relinquishes herself to it. _Joffrey is not done with you,_ the thought says. _You are a stupid, naive girl to think he is._ She crumbles now and her hands fly to her face as more tears stain her pale cheeks. 

“Oh Sansa,” Jeyne soothes, pulling her into an embrace. “You’ll be okay. You will.” 

“How…” Sansa hiccups. “How can you say that, Jeyne?”

“Because you’re Sansa Stark!” Jeyne says vehemently. “And if I know anything, the Starks are not to be messed with.” 

“You're wrong,” Sansa says quietly. “You think of my brothers – of Arya. I’m not like them. I’m weak… I can’t do anything.” 

“You’re not weak,” Jeyne pulls her to her feet. “No, that is one thing you’re not... but you know you’re right. You’re not like them. You’re stronger than them.” This makes Sansa snort and she stares incredulously at Jeyne, who frowns deeply. “When those boys were bullying Arya, who stopped them? Not Robb or Jon’s angry threats. It was you who wrote to their mothers and told them everything that had happened. You did that. And who did Bran run to when he broke his arm from falling out of that tree? You because you calmed his mind and stayed by his side till he recovered. And who, Sansa, did little Rickon run to when he was so homesick last week? _You_.” 

Sansa doesn't see her point. She doesn’t see what Jeyne is telling her and she knows she should. 

“Sansa, you _are_ strong. You’re strong because you protect the people you love,” Jeyne says. “So trust me when I say you will get through this." 

She doesn't say anything and just nods but she wonders if she is the one to protect others then who is there to protect her? She doesn't know if anyone can. They may be able to threaten Joffrey into leaving her alone but he's still there when she sleeps. He still pervades her nightmares and like oozing black tar he forces her down.

Sansa takes the letter from Jeyne and makes her promise never to tell anyone, especially a Stark (or a Snow but the inclusion of Jon goes without saying). Her best friend sighs but agrees to it. 

Over the next few weeks, Sansa tries to push him away from her mind and focus on her studies. She almost succeeds but every glimpse of blonde hair has her heart stuttering in panic. She doesn't think he is dumb enough to try anything during the school hours. Joffrey wouldn't risk a professor seeing them, and despite his arrogance, he knows better than to provoke the Starks in broad daylight. The running joke at Hogwarts that you can't mess with a Stark without inviting the full force of the pack is not as much of a joke as people may think. Sansa is both glad for her family's presence and annoyed by it. Fear has a way of isolating you that way and Sansa thinks sometimes she might want to be isolated. 

With her books pulled tightly to her chest, Sansa walks the corridor after her last lesson without much thought as to where she's going. 

"Sansa!" 

She stops but doesn't turn, wondering if she has mistaken another name for her own in the chaos of the castle. When a hand wraps around her wrist, Sansa turns, ready to snatch it back, but instead a warm smile instantly greets the boy before her. 

"Bran," she says as she hugs her brother. 

"Are you going to the quidditch pitch?" he asks but when she stares only in confusion, he's chuckling. "To watch Gryffindor's tryouts this year?" 

"I thought tryouts weren't till the end of the month." Sansa is sure that was what Robb had said – not that she'd ever had too much of an interest in the sport, though this year she knows it'll be different.

"Sansa, it _is_ the end of the month," Bran says with a laugh, but he's watching her curiously all the same. Sansa admits she is thoroughly surprised by this. "Are NEWTs that bad that you can't even remember the day?" 

She smiles and shakes her head. "No, but I guess I just lost count. So tell me about tryouts. Why are we going to watch it?" 

"It's exciting!" he exclaims. "There's only one open position this year and it's for seeker. If Jon can't find someone amazing, Gryffindor's chances for the cup will disappear. Even if the rest of team is better than everyone else."

This has Sansa's interest. She needs Gryffindor to win the Quidditch Cup. If they don't, Slytherin might and she can't let Joffrey win – not at this. Not when Jon, Robb and Arya are all on the Gryffindor team. 

Sansa follows Bran to the pitch. Her smile widens instantly when she sees Rickon waiting for them and she quickly envelopes her littlest brother in a hug. He rolls his eyes and tries to shove her off but Sansa just laughs and holds him even tighter.

" _Sansa_ , people are watching!" he grumbles.

"When did you get too big for hugs from your sister?" she asks and fixes him with a look. Rickon squirms and shrugs with innocent eyes, knowing Sansa caves to him every time he does it. 

Before she can say anything else to the eleven-year-old boy, there is a commotion and all three Starks look up as Jon kicks up into the sky. He has his dark curls pulled back from his face and Sansa wonders if everyone's heart is beating as fast as hers watching him like this. It must be the anticipation – and the respect he clearly demands.

Sansa has never seen him like this before. She has seen plenty of quidditch games over the years and he has been captain of many of them, yet she realises she had never noticed _him_. Her eyes have always been drawn to Robb or Arya, worrying and fretting any time a bludger came to close to her siblings. Occasionally her eyes would drift to Jon but he is no longer the skinny fifteen-year-old captain that seemed more awkward than commanding – and though only seventeen now, Jon looks more man than boy. She wonders when that happened – and is she the last to notice this? 

A hush descends around the pitch and everyone listens intently to Jon's words. When a fourth year boy jokes loudly to his friend, Jon's eyes snap to his and there's a second before the boy is apologizing profusely for interrupting. Sansa knows now that this is why Joffrey is frightened of him. There is power in his silence; danger in the way he holds himself – and she's suddenly remembering the look of fury in Jon's eyes when he rips Joffrey from Sansa and the cracking sound of Joffrey's nose breaking when Jon's fist meets his face. She thinks if she hadn't pulled him off, he might have actually killed the eldest Baratheon. 

Somehow knowing all of this only makes Sansa's heart beat faster in her chest. 

"Jon looks…" she clears her throat so that her voice might not betray her. "He looks like a good captain." 

Bran and Rickon both turn to her with Rickon being the first to speak. "He's the _best_!" 

"He's not only the youngest to be named captain in decades, Sansa, but he's like… I don't know, like…" Bran flounders for an appropriate word. 

"Uh, like the best," Rickon offers and Bran nods vigorously. 

Sansa laughs and shakes her head at her two brothers. "You said that, Rickon." It's endearing how much the two love Jon. He might as well have been born a Stark for all her siblings flock around him. She feels then a twinge of envy and Sansa isn't sure if she's envious of their close relationship to Jon, or if she's envious he's more of a Stark than she could ever hope to be. 

"Okay, um…" Rickon looks to Bran for help. 

"Just watch him," Bran says after a moment. "You'll see." 

And Sansa does. For the next hour, her eyes doesn't leave his once and she sees the way his teammates cling to his every word. The way he helps the students trying out even if it is clear as day even to someone like Sansa that there isn't a chance they'd make the team. By the end of it, she has a newfound appreciation for quidditch in a way she had never done before – not even when Robb had sat her down to explain the merits of the sport to her one summer. 

"We're going to go down to say hi. Coming?" Rickon asks as the two boys jump to their feet as soon as tryouts are over. Sansa shakes her head. 

"You two go ahead. I think I'm going to head to the library." Rickon makes a face and Sansa laughs before waving at them as they run off. She wants to follow them but she doesn't have anything to say to the team. She doesn't think she'd be as welcomed as her two brothers, so she starts walking to the one place she knows she _is_ welcomed. 

The castle is quiet and the air is cool despite the heat and sunshine outside, which is where she suspects all of the students are on this Friday evening. Soon winter will come and the outdoors will be too unbearable even for the most northern of students. She should be enjoying the last remnants of summer with them but she's too tired to be social, too tired to find friends who she barely even trusts. 

Sansa rummages in her bag to pull out the cardigan she had stripped off while watching the tryouts with her brothers. She has one arm in one sleeve when two rough hands shove her hard against the stone wall. Her head rings as it thuds painfully against the solid surface. 

"Little bird," he whispers, his breath hot on her neck. "Did you get my letter?" 

"Let go of me, Joffrey," Sansa says. She meant it as a warning but her voice quivers at the end and she knows he hears it too. 

"What are you going to do?" Joffrey sneers, his hand wandering down her body to yank the shirt from the waistband of her skirt. "Your brother's not here. Jon's not here. Who's going to save you?" 

Joffrey is right. Sansa is all alone. Her siblings are all out on the pitch right now and there's no one around to rescue her. Her eyes tear as his fingers dig into her skin. She needs to push him off but her arms are lead at her side. What is wrong with her? Why can't she stand up to him? 

"That's right, little bird," Joffrey is laughing. "You're all mine. You'll always be mine." 

Sansa squeezes her eyes shut when his lips touch hers. She tries to think of anything else to quicken this nightmare she's living in but there is nothing. She sees only darkness, feels only his body pushed up against her and Sansa doesn't know what to do. She has never known what to do when Joffrey is involved. She is loathe to admit it but Sansa is afraid of him. People see a self-entitled and spoiled brat but she sees a monster and she knows he is capable of hurting her worse than just a few bruises here and there. 

" _Ahhem_." 

Joffrey jumps away from her and Sansa breathes out in relief. The sound causes Professor Mormont to look at Sansa and she flushes under the scrutiny.

"Professor!" Joffrey smiles as his hand now snakes its way around her waist. 

"You know better than this, Sansa," the professor says to her, ignoring Joffrey entirely. 

"We do," Joffrey continues to speak on her behalf. "And we're very sorry. Aren't we, love?" 

Sansa looks to Joffrey and knows this is her chance. This is her way out of this hell he's forced her into but the way his eyes narrow brings forth a memory of his mother. They have the same eyes – ruthless, cold and spiteful. If she were to tell Professor Mormont right now what's been going on, it would be her word against his. A Stark against a Baratheon – or a Lannister legacy. And Sansa is not stupid. She knows how pureblood societies work in this world. Her family would be ostracised. Joffrey's mother would make sure of it. 

"Yes, of course," Sansa smiles warmly. "I'm very sorry, professor." 

Professor Mormont nods but there is doubt in his eyes and she feels relief and trepidation at this. She knows the Mormonts have always been close to the Starks but she prays he never brings this up with her parents. She doesn't think she can lie to them. She doesn't know if she's strong enough for that. 

"Perhaps you two should hurry along back to your dorms. It is getting late," he says.

"Yes, professor." Sansa tries to move but Joffrey's arm tightens around her and when he leads her away with a charming wave goodbye to Professor Mormont, she is forced to follow until they're out of earshot."You can let go now." 

"Why would I do that?" Joffrey laughs. "Remember, you're _mine_." 

Sansa rips his arm from her waist and steps away. "I'm not! I never was!" 

"Sansa, Sansa, Sansa." He shakes his head with disappointment. "You shouldn't resist me. I own you." 

"We're over, Joffrey," she spits back, running more on adrenaline and frustration than bravery or confidence in her words. "You don't get to control me anymore! You don't get to touch me or threaten me or… You don't get any part of me!"

"You spiteful little bitch," Joffrey sneers and he raises his hand, only instead of it coming crashing down on her, he's being thrown back into the wall. 

Jon walks forward, his wand still raised and his eyes darker than she has ever seen them. "You don't touch her," he growls, voice low but no less threatening. "You don't look at her. You don't even breathe the air she's in. Do you understand me, Baratheon?" 

Sansa notices Ygritte now who is standing there with narrowed eyes and there is a fire in them too that confuses her. 

"Who are you to threaten me?" Joffrey pushes himself up to his feet. "You're just a Snow. The son of a whore. A bastard without a–" But he is being thrown back again into the wall.

"Don't…" Her voice shakes. "Don't talk about Lyanna Snow like that!" Sansa doesn't realise she's screaming and has now attracted a gaggle of students but she can't stop. "So help me, Joffrey, I'll kill you myself!" 

"Sansa," Jon murmurs to her, his hands clasping over her own. He lowers her wand and pulls her to him. "Sansa, come here. Let me get you out of here." She doesn't protest when he leads her away. She doesn't notice when he looks over her head to mouth an apology to Ygritte. And she doesn't notice when he leads her not to the Ravenclaw Tower but to an empty classroom up on the fourth floor. 

"I… I thought you might want some privacy," Jon says. "The common room will probably be busy tonight but… I can take you back if you want." 

Sansa doesn't say anything for a long time. She just stares at her hands as they shake uncontrollably. She has never hit anyone before – physically or with magic. Sansa hardly even remembers doing it. All she remembers is the anger – and, _oh god,_ the grief. 

"I'm sorry," Sansa murmurs. 

"What? Sansa, there's nothing to apologise for. You didn't do anything wrong." Jon is now in front of her, stilling her hands with his. "Will you please look at me?" 

She complies and has the overwhelming urge to touch her hand to his cheek but she instead focuses on the warmth of him so close by. He smells of sweat and grass and it almost makes her smile how vastly different it is to Joffrey's stench of cologne. 

"What he said about your mum," Sansa begins and she inhales deeply to quell the tears that are threatening to come forth. "I'm so sorry, Jon. You shouldn't have had to hear that and you wouldn't if I hadn't…" 

"I can handle myself," Jon says kindly. "But you have to know I don't blame you. For any of it. In fact," and now he's smiling. It's a rare sight for the solemn boy she has come to know but she likes it. She likes it a lot. "I have to thank _you_ for defending my honour. And my mother's honour." 

Sansa blushes and she shakes her head at his praise. "I didn't even know what I was doing. I just knew I couldn't let him say that about her. Lyanna – your mum was a great woman." 

Something dark flashes across his features and his hands suddenly fall away from hers as he steps back. "She wasn't perfect, Sansa." 

"Jon?" she questions but he has his back to her now and she feels stupid and foolish and she wishes she can take back whatever it was that had upset him. "I'm sorry. I…" 

"Stop apologising," Jon says as he turns back to face her. His grey eyes are so sincere and so pleading her breath catches in her throat. "At least to me. I don't care if you are wrong. I don't care if you just slapped me for no apparent reason. I don't want you to ever have to apologise to me." 

She shakes her head and steps closer to him. "That's stupid. If I do something wrong then I should apologise." 

"No," Jon is smiling again. "You're Sansa Stark. You’re a lady. A princess. A duchess in a French court. And I, Jon Snow, am your lowly knight." 

Sansa laughs. "Jon, we were kids. That doesn't count." 

"It does to me," he says as he bends a knee and takes her hand in his. "Lady Sansa," he looks up at her and then places a soft kiss to her knuckles. "I am forever in your service." She giggles and tugs gently on his hand so he stands up. When his eyes catch hers again, she thinks she can see flecks of lilac in the greys but it's probably the dim lighting in the room that has her seeing things. Jon holds her gaze however and inhales deeply. "I hate to see you doubt yourself like this. Please promise me?" 

She exhales slowly and holds onto him tightly. "If you promise to talk to me when you need to." He looks confused and Sansa sighs. "I'm not stupid, Jon. We may not be as close as we once were but… I can tell something is bothering you." 

Jon nods with a small smile. "Okay, I promise." 

"Then I promise too."

It feels absurd to her that only minutes ago she felt as if her whole world was locked inside Joffrey's hands. Now she thinks she might just survive this after all. 

The next morning Sansa is immediately accosted. The rumours have spread like wildfire throughout the castle. They are more distorted with every person it passes through and by the time it reaches Sansa, she is asked by Bran if she really tried to _crucio_ Joffrey for cheating on her last year. Her heart constricts tightly in her chest to think that there are people out there who thinks she is this petty; it terrifies her even more to think that there are girls out there who know nothing of Joffrey’s cruelty, who are likely to fall prey to his pretty words and wealthy name. 

“I’m sorry,” Bran says next. “I shouldn’t have even asked. Of course you wouldn’t do that.” 

“No,” Sansa nods. “But I did throw him into a wall.” She allows a small smirk to pull at her lips but it only grows when Bran gasps. “What? Do you not think your sister is capable of that?”

“Aye, my sister _Arya_ but not you,” Bran is shaking his head but there’s a smile there. “What happened?” 

They’re sitting in the common room on Saturday afternoon in front of the fireplace. Sansa tucks her legs to her chest and wraps her arms around herself. She doesn’t explain to Bran what happened before or why she hates Joffrey as much as she does but Bran is a perceptive boy and he probably has his suspicions. 

“Joffrey insulted… He was saying very mean things about Jon’s mum,” Sansa says, choosing her words carefully. 

Bran’s brows furrow together. “What did he say?” Sansa shakes her head, not willing to repeat the words. “Sansa, what did he say?”

“Don’t concern yourself with what he says, Bran. Joffrey is inconsequential.” 

“Then why would he say mean things about Aunt Lyanna?” Bran asks. She finds it bizarre her younger siblings all call Jon’s mum their aunt but then she supposes they all grew up with Lyanna always there. Sansa and Robb are the only ones to remember Lyanna as the strange woman who came to take Jon away from them. 

“It doesn’t matter. Please leave it alone… and _never_ mention it to Jon,” Sansa tells him sternly. “Promise me you won’t bring it up with him?” Bran nods demurely. “Good.” 

Jeyne files through the entrance to the common room with a peculiar expression on her face. When she spots Sansa and Bran, she makes a quick beeline over to the two of them. “Uh, Sans? There’s some girl outside asking to see you.” 

“Who?” she asks warily. No one asks to see her except her family and Jeyne already knows all of them. 

“I don’t know. I think she’s a seventh year,” Jeyne shrugs, which makes Sansa sigh. It is likely some poor lass who thinks talking to Sansa might give her some inside scoop on Robb – or worse, Joffrey. 

She stands up and makes her way to the entrance. Standing just beyond is a tall figure with hair as red as hers. Sansa knows who it is immediately. “Ygritte?” 

The other girl whirls around but she doesn’t offer a smile in greeting. She merely gestures with her head for Sansa to follow. She doesn’t know what compels her but she does. 

They walk down the stairs from the Ravenclaw Tower and head past several classrooms before Ygritte is positive they are all alone. 

“Jon doesn’t know I’m here,” Ygritte says first. “And my wish is that he never knows.” 

“I don’t understand,” Sansa starts to say but she cuts her off swiftly. 

“I have been around boys like Joffrey all my life,” Ygritte says evenly. “I have seen the destruction they cause if left to do as they please. Now let me be clear, Sansa. I am not doing this out of the bottom of my heart but I care about Jon and he cares about you and he’s going to do something he’ll regret just to protect you.”

Sansa frowns. “If you’re here to tell me to just stand up for myself, Ygritte, then I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” 

The other girl rolls her eyes. “No, that’s not it. I’m offering you help. I can teach you how to defend yourself.” 

“Do you think it is that simple? I am one of the top students in my year. I know every defensive spell in the book by heart. If it was that simple, I would have rid myself of him a long time ago.” Her frown deepens to a scowl, and she does not like the way Ygritte is looking at her – as if she is some stupid, silly girl for getting caught up in Joffrey’s web like this. 

“A wand can be disarmed,” Ygritte pushes on. “Feeling strong in your own skin? That’s something he can’t take away from you.” 

“Why are you helping me?” Sansa is still not convinced she believes in Ygritte’s sincerity. 

“I already told you.”

“And I know that’s not all. Why?” Sansa asks again. 

Ygritte sighs and pushes back her hair from her face. “Because… Because I wish someone was there to teach my mum before it got out of control. Do you understand now?” 

Sansa is dumbstruck by her honesty and she nods without saying another word. She wants to comfort the other girl but she knows better than to reach out to her. Ygritte isn’t the type to accept comfort so easily. In a way, her bluntness and callous ways reminds her of Arya, and so Sansa does what she would do with her little sister. She lets her walk away, knowing that a confession such as that doesn’t need a reply, only an acknowledgement. Sympathy is the last thing Ygritte would want. 

And she sees now why Jon likes her so much. She’s strong just like him. 

She’s everything Sansa is not. 


	4. Dragonblood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon is even more grumpy than usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! 
> 
> Once again, thank you sooooo very much for the responses! You are all so nice! And I do read every single one and I am going to reply to every single one too but I haven't had the time. Hopefully I can get through them this weekend.
> 
> Anyhow, I hope you like this chapter! It was time for a little more of Jon's POV ;)

The owls are becoming more frequent. He knows he won’t be able to hide the growing number of letters forever but he is thankful at least that Robb is too busy to notice anything amiss. He is less lucky with Sam, who is more adept at reading Jon and who asks him without uttering a word, but Jon isn’t ready to talk to anyone about this. He isn’t ready to read the letters. 

He throws himself into quidditch, pushing his teammates till they’re all too sore to do any more. He knows they think him mad but Jon doesn’t care. He’s not just pushing them to win the Quidditch Cup anymore. He doesn’t even think he cares about winning. He just needs Joffrey to lose. 

The thought of the Slytherin has his blood boiling underneath his skin. It’s a feeling foreign to Jon. He has always prided himself in being a fairly level-headed boy, a stark contrast to Robb, who is all reckless impulse, driven by emotion more than reason. But Robb had the luxury of growing up with a loving family whose reputation allowed him certain liberties. Jon’s upbringing was less as kind. His only source of comfort came in the close relationship he had with the Starks, but after that, Jon has always been on his own. 

Even more so now after his mum’s passing. 

Jon rubs at his eyes. The cold shrill of autumn has now fully taken hold of Hogwarts. Red and gold leaves cover the grounds as trees bear their skeleton for all the world to see. It is a time of change; of shedding what is dead to the upcoming winter. He loved his mum, loved what she tried to do for him and loved her for understanding his need for the Starks in his life, but her death is wrought with questions Jon doesn’t think he wants answered. 

“I thought I’d find you here,” Sam’s voice reaches him and Jon turns to see his friend. “Why are you sulking?” 

“I’m not sulking,” Jon says but the expression on Sam’s face has him rephrasing his words. “I am not sulking _that_ much. I just needed some time to myself.”

Sam nods and pauses in his steps. “Should I leave?”

“No, Sam,” Jon offers his friend a small smile. “I wouldn’t mind the company.” 

The Ravenclaw comes to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Jon and for a few seconds, the two friends stare out onto the grounds in silence, both leaning on the railing of the bridge. It’s easy to lose oneself to the serenity of the castle at this time of hour. The bridge is far enough removed from the commotion below that barely a voice could be heard above the whistling winds. It’s why Jon likes it here so much. 

“Do you miss her?” Sam says after a while. 

Jon nods. “Every day.” 

“She was a great woman,” Sam offers and Jon is immediately reminded of Sansa and he feels a hollow ache he can’t adequately explain away. 

“She had her faults, Sam,” Jon replies, just as he did that day. “Let’s not delude ourselves just because she’s gone now.” 

Sam sighs. “She loved you. I think that makes her a great woman. It’s more than others get.” 

Jon glances at his friend and in the sombre expression he sees the timid eleven-year-old who cowered as members of his own house teased him relentlessly. Apparently being a Tarly meant something to a lot of people and the fact that Sam didn’t live up to those expectations had turned him into the butt of many jokes. For all he hated the years his mum had forced him to move around the world, Jon was at least glad he had grown up primarily out of the circle of pureblood society. From what he’s seen, he hates it. 

“You have your mother’s love,” Jon reminds him. “And your sister’s.” 

“Yes,” he chuckles. “And you have the Starks.” 

Jon chuckles too in spite of his sullen mood. He may not have the blood of the pack but he knows he’s as much a part of it as a true Stark. “Aye, that I do.” 

Another silence descends upon the two friends before Sam turns his body fully towards Jon to speak. “Sansa asked for you.” 

This surprises Jon and he arches a brow in question. 

“She didn’t say what it was about but you should probably go find her later,” Sam suggests to which he nods quietly, wondering what exactly it is Sansa wants. His thoughts turn dark when he starts to conjure up images of Sansa cornered alone and afraid by that blonde-haired cunt. If not for his need to graduate Hogwarts with a good, clean record, he would gladly curl his hands around Joffrey Baratheon’s neck and watch as his last glimmer of life fades away from those sadistic eyes. 

“You went from sulking to murderous,” Sam says in alarm. “Jon?” 

“It’s nothing.”

Although news had quickly spread since that Friday over Jon and Sansa’s altercation with Joffrey, no one knew who started what and her secret still remains hidden. Jon has no desire to break her trust now – he had even gone so far as to swear Ygritte from ever speaking of what she saw. It had caused an argument or two between them but ultimately she promised. 

A distant hoot pulls Jon from his revelry and the two friends look up at the exact time a tawny brown old comes flapping towards them. It doesn’t slow as it swoops into the bridge, dropping a letter into Jon’s hand, before flying back to where it had come from.

“How many is that now?” Sam questions with incredulity. “You _have_ to open one.” 

“Why? Why should I listen to anything the man says?” He crumples the letter in his hand and drops it onto the ground. He starts to walk away but even without having to glance back, he knows Sam has creased out the letter and is following diligently behind. 

“Because you’ll regret it if you don’t,” Sam says as he catches up to Jon. 

“ _Regret_?” Jon spits out vehemently. “Where was his regret the past seventeen years, Sam? Or is he only doing this now to clear his conscience because my mother is dead?” 

“Maybe,” Sam rubs at the nape of his neck. “Maybe he is. But you deserve to at least know. Find some peace of mind at last.” 

_Peace of mind_ – that is a laughable notion. Jon doesn’t think he’s had peace of mind since her passing nearly six months ago now. And before that? He’s not even sure what that was, but Jon stills and he exhales heavily. “You’re asking a lot of me.” 

“I’m asking because I know you,” Sam replies but there’s a triumphant smile on his face as he hands over the letter. Jon takes it, avoiding the knowing eyes of his friend, and rips open the envelope.

He pulls the letter out slowly and braces himself for what he’s about to read. 

“Dear Jon,” he says. “There is a lifetime of wrongs I have committed that I know you will never forgive me for and I do not expect you to. I understand this letter is seventeen years too late and I can list excuses for you in every shade and colour for my absence from your life and your mother’s life, but it would not do us any good to begin this with lies. I left because I was selfish. And I stayed away because I was scared.” Jon hisses through his teeth but now he has started reading, he can’t stop. “But I truly want to make amends. I have followed your career at Hogwarts, Jon. You are an impressive young man and I only wish to make your acquaintance. I don’t expect anything more than that. Please consider it. With regards, R. Targaryen.” 

“Bloody hell,” Sam whispers. “You didn’t – when you told me you knew who your father was, you never told me it was… _Bloody hell._ ” 

“It doesn’t matter who he is,” Jon groans. “He’ll never be my father. No matter what he says. I have no father.”

“Jon -” 

“Drop it, Sam.” 

He doesn’t wait for another response. He turns from the spot and begins to walk back towards the castle. As he does, he reaches for his wand from the inside pocket of his robes and whispers an incantation that quickly lights the letter on fire. 

Rhaegar Targaryen can go sod himself for all Jon cares. 

By the time Halloween approaches, Jon was receiving at least a dozen letters a week – all of which he burns as soon as he sees them. He no longer cares if people know or if Robb continuously hounds him down about the letters or if Arya punches him in the shoulder for keeping secrets from her; he just does not have the energy to think about what writing back to Rhaegar means. Jon thinks if he sees the man in the flesh he might hex him repeatedly for all the hurt he’s caused Jon’s mum. 

When a letter arrives for him _during_ Charms class, Jon is fuming. He asks to be excused immediately, citing headaches and anything he can say to leave the curious eyes of his friends and girlfriend behind. When Professor Manderly finally lets him go, he races out of there as fast as he can manage. Frankly, he’s tired of the questions, and god, he’s even more tired of fighting with Ygritte about it. He tries to remember she is only asking because she cares but it’s hard to constantly argue with someone who should know him well enough to leave him alone. His secrets are his and when he’s ready he’ll talk.

Jon doesn’t head for the Hospital Wing as he says he will. He walks straight out of the castle doors, down past the courtyard and Hagrid’s Hut, until he is standing in the shadowed walls of the Forbidden Forest. The name deters some of the younger students but most know that as long as you don’t venture too far into the forest, you won’t come to much harm – not that his own safety is even on his mind at the moment. Jon just needs a place to clear his head, to feel as if he’s somewhere else, somewhere far from the stony castle walls. 

The ground is damp underneath his feet from this morning’s shower and the mud squishes as he paces. Sunlight is blocked by the thick canopy of trees above Jon and it leaves him in a muted grey world that already feels and smells so vastly different from Hogwarts. Everything in here feels so alive in spite of winter’s foreboding.

Jon stands the for some time unaware of whether it is minutes or hours that pass him by. It’s hard to find any distinction in the height of the sun in the sky. Inside the forest, everything looks the same but he can tell he’s been there for some while by the numbness in his fingers and the biting cold around his nose and cheeks. 

Jon leans his back against a tree, tilting his head upwards and closing his eyes. He tries to remember his mother’s face – the grey eyes and curly dark hair that he has so clearly inherited. He wonders then if there is even anything of his father in him at all. He hopes not. He doesn’t think he can stand to have even a single trait of Rhaegar Targaryen, whether physical or otherwise, but he wonders all the same. For anyone who looked at Lyanna and Jon together, the resemblance was uncanny and no one could deny them mother and son but to speak with them even for an hour and one might start to speculate whether Jon is Lyanna’s son at all. While she is so vibrant, so full of life, Jon is her opposite. He knows the others describe him as solemn and grumpy but he prefers to think of himself as quiet. Unlike his mother, Jon never impulsively did anything. He always needed to think everything through several times over before acting – at least he tried. Sometimes there was a part of him so dark and primal that surged forward when the people he cared about were threatened. Jon doesn’t know where it comes from or how even to control it but it’s like having a dormant dragon slumbering inside him till someone is dumb enough to provoke it. 

“Jon!” 

His eyes snap open and at first he thinks someone’s found him, ready to interrogate him once more about the letters, but then they fall on her red hair, her clear blue eyes and the rosy pink tinge of her cheeks. “Sansa, what are you doing here?” 

“I could ask you the same.” 

“Needed some peace and quiet,” Jon answers truthfully. 

She nods with understanding. “Same.” She raises her left hand and shows him the book she’s holding. “I’ve been coming here to read. I like the quiet and… it kind of reminds me of home.” 

“I know what you mean,” Jon says. “It’s the cold, isn’t it?” 

When Sansa laughs, he can’t help but smile with her. She shakes her head, stepping towards him. “It must be annoying.” 

“What must be?” 

“The constant questions. People wondering if you’re okay all the time,” Sansa says. “People always wanting to know about things they don’t need to know about.”

Jon realises then that she is the only person in his life not to badger him with questions. She is the _only one_ to have kept her distance and allowed him the space he so desperately craves. He is also shameful to realise he has allowed that space to grow because he’s been too self-involved to know it was there in the first place. 

“Would you hate me then if I asked you how you’re doing?” Jon pushes himself from the tree to close the distance between them. She laughs again and shakes her head. “How are you, Sansa?” 

“Better,” she answers. “How are you? I think it’s only fair.”

“Aye, you’re right,” Jon says and then shrugs his answer. “Frustrated? Perhaps irritable is a better word.” 

“I’ve been there,” she says with a wry smile before pulling a blanket from her bag. She walks over to the tree he was just leaning against and shakes it out by its trunk. “So that’s why we should skip dinner, skip the circus of people in there and stay here a little while longer.” 

“Aren’t you cold?” Jon asks.

Sansa snorts in a rather unladylike way but Jon likes it. For a girl so possessed by her manners, he finds it disarmingly cute when she does something she wouldn’t ever do in front of anyone else. “Never… But just in case, this blanket is charmed to warm us.” 

“What about food?” 

“I have a thermos of hot chocolate and some lemon cakes.”

This makes him laugh and it’s the first real laugh he’s had since the letters first started to arrive and it surprises him how something so simple as amusement over Sansa’s predictability could pull that from him when nothing else has. 

“What? Do you not like lemon cakes?” Sansa asks as she folds herself on the blanket. 

“I love them,” Jon answers and takes his seat beside her. “Though I don’t believe anyone could love them quite like you do. You know your mum had baked me a lemon cake for my third birthday and you stuck your grubby little paws into it before I could even blow out the candles.”

“No!” Sansa gasps with her hands to her mouth. “I didn’t really, did I?” 

“You did,” Jon laughs and nudges her with his foot. “My birthday unknowingly created a monster.”

“Jon,” Sansa swats at him. “I am not that bad.”

“I don’t know. I think you might be.” 

She’s rolling her eyes now at him and takes the container of lemon cakes and places it far from his reach. “Fine then you get none for mocking me.”

“I am not above stealing your lemon cakes from you,” Jon warns with a mischievous smile. 

“You wouldn’t dare, Jon Snow,” Sansa is saying as she starts to back away from him, reaching for the container to hold it tightly into her side. 

“I’m a quidditch captain and didn’t you say we were all barbarians?” Jon inches closer towards her. “Maybe you aren’t too far off.”

“ _Jon…_ ” 

He cuts her off by lunging forward for the container. Sansa shrieks with surprise as she tries to roll away from him but Jon is blessed with years of training his reflexes so he’s able to easily pin her down with both his hands on her wrists. He laughs as she tries to wriggle free. 

“You are a horrible boy,” Sansa breathes out but she’s smiling so he knows he hasn’t gone too far. 

“A growing boy,” Jon counters as he lets go of one wrist to lean down on his elbow. He’s then pulling her other wrist forward so he can take the container from her hand, but he’s thrown off-balance when Sansa suddenly shoves him on his back, her legs straddling him and the container held high above his head.

“Never underestimate a Stark,” Sansa smirks. She opens the container and breaks off a piece of lemon cake to plop into her mouth. “Mhmm… Delicious.” 

“Okay, okay, I can admit defeat when I’ve been –” His words die on his lips as he watches her cardigan fall from her shoulder to reveal a yellowing bruise. “That… _that_ son of a bitch!” 

“Jon?” Sansa’s eyes are wide but she follows his gaze to her shoulder and she’s scrambling away from him, pulling the cardigan back up. “No, Jon, it’s not…” 

But he’s already on his feet. 

This time he doesn’t think he’d be able to stop once he has the cowardly prick in his grasps. He doesn’t think he even cares if he’s expelled for it. All Jon cares about is ridding the world of Joffrey’s evil and protecting Sansa from anyone who would ever dare to lay a finger on her. 

“I’ll kill him, Sansa,” Jon says. “And then he’ll never touch you again.” 

He starts to walk towards the castle but before he can move even two steps, Sansa is in front of him with her hands on his chest, pushing him back. 

“Jon, please.” 

“Why are you protecting him!” Jon shouts in anger but he instantly softens when he sees her face. The plait she had her hair in falls now in loose tendrils with a dead leaf stuck at the top and those blue eyes are so pleading, so warm he feels remorse at having shouted at her at all. His rage isn’t directed at her and he tries his hardest to understand the girl before him – this sweet, kind, intelligent girl – but he can’t. “Sansa, you don’t have to be scared of him. I can protect you.” 

“No one can protect me,” Sansa says resolutely. “And I don’t need your protection.” 

“I can… if you let me,” Jon takes her hand in his. “ _Please_ let me.”

She pulls away with a heavy sigh. “No, Jon. This isn’t your fight. This is mine and… and the bruise isn’t from Joffrey.”

“Then who is it –” 

“It’s from Ygritte.” 

“ _What_? No… I don’t… I don’t understand,” Jon stammers out, his mind foggy with this admission from her. 

“She’s teaching me how to defend myself,” Sansa tells him. “She made me promise not to tell you of it but she’s helping me. And... I feel for the first time like I can actually stand up to him. _Without_ you. Or Robb. Or anyone else to fight my battles for me.” 

For a second, he doesn’t know how to respond or why her not needing him fills him with such anguish, but after the silence starts to make her fidget nervously, Jon pushes the cardigan from her shoulder. The bruise is mostly yellow with some purple discolouration but at least it means it’s in its final stages of healing. He gently runs his thumb across her bare skin, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Sansa. “Is it sore?” he asks as his eyes flicker up to hers. She shakes her head. “I hate to see you like this.” 

Sansa’s hand comes up to grip his. “I’m fine, I promise I can handle this.” 

“God, she really doesn’t hold back, does she?”

“No,” Sansa laughs and the sound is what he needs to let go of the tension in his shoulders. He drops his hand from hers and offers her a half-smile. “But I can see why you like her so much.” 

“What do you mean?”

“She’s amazing,” Sansa says. “So strong and capable, like she has no fear in the world. I can only wish to be more like her by the end of this.” 

“Aye, sometimes I think there is nothing Ygritte can’t do,” Jon says but then he's taking her hands in his again, forcing her to really look at him. “But you are strong in a way she isn’t, Sansa. You’re so _loving_ and you’re so perceptive to other people’s emotions in a way that most people aren’t. I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. You’re amazing too.” 

 


	5. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh, you guys don't know how much I love you all for your sweet and adorable and hilarious comments. They honestly give me so much muse to post faster – not that you're required to or anything since I do 100% plan on finishing this fanfic. But it's nice all the same <3 
> 
> Speaking of which, I actually sat down and hashed out the details of the rest of the story and it should hopefully be finished in 11 chapters as I initially planned so yay! 
> 
> Anyway, sooo... I hope you guys like this chapter! :')

**Sansa:**

Her heart beats rapidly like thunder against her chest and she squares her shoulder in anticipation. She knows something is coming but she doesn't know what. When the fist finally flies at her, Sansa remembers to sidestep just in time. 

"Good," Ygritte smiles and Sansa returns it. "I'm glad I don't have to give you another bruise so soon after the last."

Sansa glances down at the purple and green shape on her upper shoulder and laughs. "Me too. I was starting to think you enjoyed it." 

Ygritte smirks but doesn’t respond. She turns away from Sansa to retrieve a towel off the back of a chair. They held their lessons in one of the abandoned classrooms, pushing all of the tables and chairs back against the wall to serve their purpose. Two and a half weeks and no one is the wiser – though Jon now knows but he is the only one. He does have a peculiar habit of learning all of her secrets without trying. Sansa wonders why it’s always him to notice things others don’t. They haven’t been close since she was six and him seven. 

“I could teach you more, you know?” Ygritte says not for the first time as she turns back to face her. “How to really hurt someone.” 

It’s the same old argument since they first started these lessons and Sansa has the same answer she always does. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. That’s not why I’m doing this.”

“I know, I _know_ ,” Ygritte rolls her eyes. “But no one would think less of you if you did hurt him.” 

“I just want to be able to take care of myself,” Sansa asserts. “I don’t want him to ever…” 

Ygritte’s mocking eyes immediately soften. “I understand.” 

It is a bizarre situation to be having this kind of honest conversation with Jon’s girlfriend when not even her siblings know the extent of Joffrey’s torture. She doesn’t even speak so candidly to Jon about it but with Ygritte, there’s an ease that she thinks come from not really knowing the other girl. Outside of this room, they are strangers and Sansa likes it that way. 

Sansa pulls on her navy jumper with the bronze trimming before casting a glance over at Ygritte. “Are you going to see Jon now?” 

“Yeah,” Ygritte says, shrugging into her own crimson coloured jumper. “I haven’t seen him in awhile. He’s been a bloody miserable sod the past few weeks.” 

“He has,” Sansa nods. She tries not to blush when she thinks of how she saw him only last night. It makes no sense to her why it would give her so much pleasure to know he has been so miserable with everyone else but not with her. It shouldn’t. 

“Anyway, good job today, Sansa,” Ygritte says, standing in front of her. She pats her on the non-bruised shoulder. “In two weeks, you’ve come a long way.” 

“Thanks,” Sansa replies and this time she does blush. “You’re a great teacher.”

Ygritte snorts at this. “So I’ve been told.” And without another word, she exits the classroom and leaves Sansa standing there alone in the middle of the room. 

Once the desks and chairs are placed back where they belong, Sansa exits as well. She follows the familiar corridors till she reaches the moving staircases. It is a quiet evening in the castle and she feels more relaxed than she has in a long time. Sansa is still learning to defend herself and she is far from adept at it but even the act of learning has done wonders for her confidence to roam the castle on her own – although she knows it is partially due to Joffrey being too busy to bother with her. Slytherin’s first game is coming up and all eyes are on their newest captain. Sansa hopes he crashes and burns – or if that is too much to ask, she at least hopes a bludger knocks him off of his broom. 

When Sansa reaches the Ravenclaw Tower, she half-expects Jeyne to be waiting for her just by the entrance but she instead finds the common room nearly empty save for one lone figure. Sansa catches his eye and a red flush spreads from his neck up to the tips of his ears, which is altogether an endearing sight. 

“Hi,” Sansa smiles at the older boy.

"Oh, Sansa!" Sam scrambles to his feet. "I… was… I was waiting for you." 

This intrigues her as outside from the occasional dinners she joins her siblings for at the Gryffindor table, she hardly ever speaks to Sam. "Yes?" she urges him to continue.

"Right," Sam chuckles nervously and she is even more endeared to the boy. It becomes all the more bewildering to Sansa how he is one of Jon's most trusted friends – and how Sam has endured Robb and Theon for as long as he has. It is certainly the oddest group of friends. "Robb… He asked me to find you but you weren't here so I waited. But he says it's urgent."

Sansa frowns now. "Everything to Robb is urgent, Sam, but," she sighs and offers another smile., "take me to my brother if you must." 

Sam nods and quickly leads her out of the Ravenclaw common room. It is not quite a companionable silence between the two as Sam keeps fidgeting and glancing back at her as if she would run away at any moment's notice. Feeling a little fed up, Sansa decides to break the silence. "Don't take this the wrong way, Sam, but why do you hang out with my brother?" 

Sansa nearly walks straight into him as he suddenly stops walking to turn around and look at her. He chuckles for a moment. "I ask that question every day," Sam says honestly. "But the other way around." 

"Oh no," Sansa shakes her head. "You're far too good for the likes of him. And Theon. _Definitely_ Theon. Even Jon is too sullen for you." 

Sam chuckles again. "They're not that bad." But when Sansa rolls her eyes, he sighs. "It's… a long story." 

"I'm in no hurry to see my brother," Sansa assures him. 

"I guess it began in first year," Sam says slowly, his eyes carefully watching hers. "As you know, I'm a Tarly and because of my father's reputation, everyone expected me to be… just like him. Only I'm not. It was easy to avoid the scrutiny when Father rarely takes me to the pureblood functions but at Hogwarts, it was harder to ignore." 

Sansa nods in understanding. She is lucky to be apart of a pureblood legacy that has always prided themselves on family above all else. Even when they did on occasion attend those pureblood functions, Eddard and Catelyn Stark had always made sure their children knew that being apart of this society isn't all there is to life – and perhaps it is also the location of the Starks' manor that also secludes them mostly from this society. It is a blessing now to have grown up in this environment but she hadn't always enjoyed it. Once upon a time, Sansa had longed and prayed to marry into a renowned family – to move to London and leave the dreary north behind. 

"Children weren't kind," Sam says simply, not willing to divulge any more to her and Sansa doesn't push him on it. "I think it was a month into Hogwarts when Jon saw." He paused and smiled ruefully, looking above Sansa's head as if he was reliving the moment. "You know what he's like. He immediately comes to defend me but it was four against one. Needless to say, Jon looked _awful_ by the end of it." 

"What?" Sansa gasps. "I never… Why didn't I ever know of this?" 

"You weren't even in Hogwarts at the time, Sansa," Sam says with a soft chuckle. "And Jon never told your parents or his mum." 

"What happened next?" Sansa is gripped now by this story, urging Sam to carry on. 

"They left and a professor found Jon and me after," he continues. "Neither of us said anything. I'm thankful every day for that. It would have made living with them even worse."

"I'm sorry, Sam," Sansa says quietly as she places a hand on his forearm. "You shouldn't have had to… No one deserves to be bullied." 

"It's okay," Sam smiles. "I met Robb and Theon because of it. They showed up a couple hours after Jon was brought to the Hospital Wing. He told them what happened and Robb swore to take them out. A bit aggressive for me but it's hard to stop your brother once he sets his mind to something." 

Sansa laughs. "Especially if you have Robb and Jon together."

"Exactly," Sam says. "And Theon too." When Sansa makes a face, he laughs and shakes his head. "Theon's not a bad guy. A bit rough around the edges, I admit." 

"Try completely perverse," Sansa adds. 

Sam sighs now and she feels she's suddenly said something wrong. "His father isn't the most understanding man around, you know? And being sorted into his father's house placed a lot of pressure on him. I think that's why he hangs out with us instead of the Slytherins. It's his way of rebelling."

"I don't understand," Sansa admits. 

"Your family is still considered high enough in society that his father can't disapprove of his company but your family's influence is in the north and Mr. Greyjoy wants alliances in London. Theon sought out Robb deliberately to take control of who he's friends with," Sam explains. 

"So he's using my brother?" 

"No!" Sam quickly waves his hand. "Maybe at first but… but the friendship is real." 

This is all news to Sansa and she tries to take it all in. There appears to be so much that she doesn't know. She admits she has never liked Theon. The way he looks at her is enough to make her think unkind thoughts towards the other boy but Theon is also lewd and crass with his words and she has always thought him a bad influence on Robb. Now, she doesn't know what to make of him. 

"Please don't tell him I told you all this," Sam pleads. "He told us when he was drunk and I don't think he wants anyone else to know." 

"I won't tell anyone," Sansa reassures Sam. "I just… I guess I can see why you four are friends now. It confused me for years to see such different people all in one friendship group but… it makes sense now." 

"In a weird way," Sam agrees with a laugh. 

Eventually, they continue to walk in silence till they're out of the castle walls and down by the quidditch pitch. All of her siblings minus Arya are gathered by a tree; Theon and Jon are off to the side talking; and she is wondering what in the world she's just walked into. 

When Robb sees her, he jumps up and pulls her into a swift hug. " _Finally_ ," he says. "Did you two stop by the kitchens or something? What took you so long?"

Sansa ignores his question and arches a brow. "What are you doing? And why are they up? _Robb_ , you're Head Boy. It's past curfew." 

"Sansa, they're fine," Robb rolls his eyes. "And besides this is an emergency." 

"I really doubt that," Sansa sighs. She looks past Robb and catches Jon's eye. She can feel her cheeks warm under his gaze and she tries not to think about why that is. 

"Truly, sister," Robb says and pulls her forward towards where Bran and Rickon are standing. 

Sansa wraps an arm around Rickon's shoulder. "Did Robb wake you for this?" He nods and Sansa turns to scowl at her older brother. 

"Look, okay, this is important," Robb says and he gestures for the others to come closer. "I have it from very reliable sources that Arya is going on a _date_ tonight." 

"You're spying on our little sister?" Sansa exclaims and hits Robb on his shoulder. "You know she'll kill you for this."

"Sansa, ow!" he grabs her hands and stills them. "I have to know who this guy is. If he's worthy of my baby sister then I'll leave them be." 

"Were we all needed for this?" Jon asks with exasperation. "I have work to do." 

"Absolutely," Robb says, looking at each one of them. "As family comes first, the Starks must all be present. As my friends, you all must help protect my sister if the guy turns out to be a prick." 

Something occurs to Sansa then and she yanks her hands away from Robb's. "Did you do this when I was dating…" 

"No and I wish we had!" Robb answers her unfinished question. "That's why I have to. I don't want a repeat of what happened to you." 

Something awful curdles in the pit of her stomach and she starts to step away from her brother. Somehow in the years they have grown up together, teasing and laughing over the most senseless things, Sansa and Robb have become so disconnected he can't even understand how this could upset her so. 

"Right," she says quietly. "Because I'm stupid enough to get caught up in Joffrey's lies, you have to be extra cautious… I get it. But…” Sansa takes a deep breath. “Arya isn't me. Leave her alone, Robb." 

She leaves Robb with a withering look before she turns on her heels and walks away from them. She can feel her heart lodged in her throat and she wants to cry but she won't do it now where they can still see her. 

Her pace quickens as soon as she's out of sight and then she's running for the castle, the only sound in the air is that of her feet hitting the damp grass. She knows he means well. She knows he's only trying to protect Arya. But somehow being used as a cautionary example by her own brother makes her feel… _small_. As if she is a lost cause and too far broken to be saved. Sansa had voiced similar sentiments to herself but to know her brother thinks them too breaks her heart. 

Robb used to be her protector. He used to be the person she could turn to when she was upset or scared. How did he go from being the one to stay up with her for days on end after Jon moved out to simply being another boy who didn't know her? 

Sansa realises abruptly that she knows when. The same time she started dating Joffrey; the same time she started letting that snake into her life and controlling and changing who she was to fit his purposes. She remembers now the arguments she would have with Robb about her relationship to Joffrey; how they would scream at each other over it; and how after awhile he just gave up. 

Tears fall down her face as she knows with absolution that she did this. She let this happen. She let Joffrey take everything away from her – including her family. 

\---

**Jon:**

Jon thinks Robb is an idiot. It’s not a new revelation but it’s one that has made him angry for the first time at his best friend. He pulls Robb to one side after telling Sam and Theon to get the boys back to their respective dormitories without getting caught out after curfew. He doesn’t speak for a few minutes as he drags Robb far away from the quidditch pitch. He doesn’t stop until he’s at the very edge of the Forbidden Forest. 

Once there, Jon pushes Robb forward with a forceful shove. 

“Jon,” Robb says in a low voice that he recognises instantly to mean his friend is not pleased with him. “What the hell are you doing?” 

“What hell am _I_ doing?” Jon repeats with incredulity. “What are you doing, Robb? Saying that stuff to Sansa?” 

Robb lets out a frustrated groan and rubs his face with his hands. “I don’t know. I don’t bloody know anymore with her. One minute she’s laughing with us and the next she has that – that far away look and I can’t reach her. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

Jon knows what he has to do now. It’ll kill him to do it because he knows it’s only going to cause Sansa more pain and that is the last thing he would ever want to do to her but at the end of the day, he’d rather she be angry with him than push her own brother out. She needs Robb more than she could ever need Jon, and as deluded as it sounds, he’s betraying her trust for her. 

“Robb,” Jon starts and braces himself for what’s to come. “What I’m going to tell you is going to make you hate me and it’s going to be difficult to hear but I just…” He inhales deeply, looking at his oldest friend, imploring him to understand. “I just need you to know I did it for her.” 

“You’re making me nervous,” Robb says. “Just say it.” 

“Towards the end of last year, I found…” Even reliving the memory is painful for Jon but he pushes on. “I found Joffrey on top of Sansa. He was hurting her and she wasn’t… She was trying to push him off but he wouldn’t let her. He was just laughing and… Anyway, I pulled him off her and I know I told you I beat him up for cheating on her but it didn’t quite happen like that.” 

Robb pales and doesn’t say anything for a long while but Jon can see his blue eyes begin to darken ever so slowly. When he finally does speak, his voice comes from a deep and guttural part of Robb that has Jon understanding why people sometimes called Robb ‘the Young Wolf’. 

“You saw my sister assaulted?” Robb asks and Jon nods. “You saw it and you never told me?” He nods again and suddenly Jon’s knocked to the ground, his jaw aching from where Robb’s fist has met it. “You bloody saw my sister being assaulted and you kept it from me! How could you think… How did you think that was a good idea? You’re my best friend. My _brother_!” 

“She asked me!” Jon spits out the blood welling in his mouth and pushes himself to a standing position. “I wanted to tell you but I couldn’t betray Sansa’s trust like that.” 

“But you could mine?” Robb thunders. “She’s my sister, Jon! I deserved to know!” 

“Aye but it wasn’t my secret to tell,” Jon tries to explain but Robb isn’t hearing it. He’s pacing back and forth, a glint in his eyes Jon knows so well as he suspects he had it in his the first time he saw Joffrey hurt her. 

“I can’t forgive you for this,” Robb murmurs and looks up from his pacing. 

“I don’t expect you to,” Jon replies truthfully. “But Sansa needs you now. That’s all I ask. I know I don’t have much grounds to ask anything of you but go to her before you do anything else. Please.”

For a moment, Rob’s eyes soften and he looks as if he’s going to say something but then he thinks better of it. He shakes his head with a sigh before turning back to Hogwarts. Jon watches as his oldest friend walks away from him and he feels an aching in his chest that makes him want to run into the Forbidden Forest. It’s a cowardly move but he doesn’t know what to do. In one fell swoop, he has lost Robb and he knows by telling him, he has also lost Sansa. 

A wolf howls somewhere in the forest and Jon is ever more tempted to run towards it but even if the Starks now turn against him, he can’t just walk away when Joffrey is still around to torment Sansa when she’s alone. She might hate him but Jon can still look out for her.

And he has Ygritte still. Soft, warm, beautiful Ygritte. 

Jon didn't go to her that night. Instead he found himself wandering over to the kitchens for ice to place on his swelling jaw before falling asleep on the steel table because the thought of returning to the Gryffindor Tower to face Robb’s wrath didn’t sound appealing in the slightest. He doesn’t see Ygritte the next day either as he instead went to sulk in the Forbidden Forest again in the hopes that he didn’t have to run into any of the Starks. Jon knows very well he is being a coward but it is better if he stays away – at least that is what he is using to justify his actions. When Ygritte eventually finds him on Sunday, Jon is sitting alone in the Great Hall eating dinner early to avoid the rush of students and with it the faces he had spent so much of the weekend hiding from.

“Are you avoiding me?” she asks bluntly as she sits across from him. 

“Not you,” Jon answers, looking up from his plate. 

“So who are you avoiding?” Ygritte asks.

“Robb. Sansa. The Starks.” 

For a moment, she doesn’t respond and then she’s sighing heavily, pulling her hair over one shoulder. “You told Robb, didn’t you?” He nods and she sighs again. “You did the right thing.” 

“Did I?” Jon snorts. “Then why do I feel so awful?” 

“Because you lied to Robb and you told Sansa’s secret,” Ygritte answers. This makes Jon grimace and his girlfriend pulls his hand into hers. “Jon, they’ll be okay and they’ll forgive you. You need to stop blaming yourself for it. You are not the bad guy in this story. Joffrey is.”

Jon hisses at the mention of the blonde’s name but he looks into Ygritte’s eyes instead, offering her a half-smile for her kindness. He squeezes her hand. “I’m sorry if you thought I was avoiding you.”

“You were a miserable boy when I met you and you still are,” she says with a laugh. “I knew what I was getting myself into.” 

Jon makes to say something, to let her know that though he has been distant in the past month he still cares for her, when the Starks walk into the Great Hall. It’s only Robb, Sansa and Arya but his heart jumps into his throat all the same. Robb is avoiding his eye and steers his sisters to the opposite side of the Gryffindor table. Arya says something with confusion evident in her grey eyes and Jon realises that they didn’t tell her but instead of finding relief in that small bit of knowledge, the look Sansa sends him only seems to make everything so much worse. He wants to go to her – if just to let her know that no matter how much she hates him now, he will always be there for her, but he can’t move. He can only stare into her blue eyes, noticing the way they storm like a winter’s blizzard – beautiful but cold; captivating but dangerous – and it is Jon that eventually looks away. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Jon says and stands up, hand reaching out for Ygritte. 

“I haven’t eaten!” 

“I’ll get you a feast from the kitchens.” He takes her hand and pulls her up to her feet. Jon doesn’t know what compels him to do it but he snakes one hand around her waist and brings his lips forcefully down onto hers, relishing in the sweet taste that he has missed so much in the past couple of days. “Besides, I have better ideas for what we can do to pass the time.” 

Ygritte rolls her eyes but she humours him as the two walk out of the Great Hall hand-in-hand, a pair of eyes staring at them as they do so. 


	6. Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions are high and everything is riding on Jon to lead Gryffindor to victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi hi hi!!! 
> 
> I really enjoyed writing this chapter and actually struggled to end it. There's so much I have planned and I'm now starting to worry if I'll fit it in my 11 chapter outline but I think we're still on the right track so fingers crossed haha.
> 
> Anyway, I really hope you like this chapter as much as I liked writing it! 
> 
> Please let me know! <3 Always love hearing from you all!!!!
> 
> I read every single comment and try to reply to all of you. If I don't, I just want to say thank you, I love you for taking the time out to read and comment, and just seriously thank you.

**Sansa:**

Potions is dull today and all Sansa wants to do is curl up in her bed back in the dormitory and hide from everyone in her life. She knows this is cowardly and she knows she needs to listen if she ever hopes to be a Healer but when it is only theoretical work and lessons in terminology, she can hardly bear to take notes. Sansa tries for the first half of the lesson at least to listen to what the professor is saying but by the thirty minute mark, her mind starts to drift. At first, she thinks of how it can possibly be November already when she feels the year only just started but then she thinks of all the things that has already happened and she wonders again how so much can happen in such a short amount of time. 

As her eyes drift away from the board towards the shelf of potion ingredients, her mind wanders back to the night Robb comes to her. 

_It’s over an hour after she gets back to her dormitory when there is a quiet knock on the door. Jeyne and the rest of her dorm-mates have already gone to sleep so Sansa is the only one left to get the door. On the other side is a small child that must be close to Rickon’s age, who looks sleepy and exhausted. She rubs at her eyes then points down the corridor towards the common room._

_“There’s someone there for you, Sansa,” she says. How this little girl knows her name is beyond her but she nods and walks her back to her bed before heading out into the common room to find Robb waiting for her._

_“What are you doing here?” she asks but doesn’t move any closer._

_Robb notices and his smile falters. He runs a hand through his dark auburn hair but although he has inherited much of his looks from Catelyn Stark, he reminds her so much of their father right then and that thought makes her so suddenly homesick that all she wants to do is to sidle up in between her parents as her mum strokes her hair till she falls asleep._

_“I need to talk to you,” he says and there’s none of the humour left in him. It makes everything feel wrong – so very wrong._

_“What is it?” Sansa asks, and she takes a couple more steps forward. “Did something happen? Is Arya okay?"_

_Robb runs a hand over his face and shakes it slowly. "No, nothing like that," he mumbles through his hand. When he drops it, his eyes are dark and sad and so pained Sansa forgets altogether that she's mad at him._

_"Robb, what's going on?" She rushes to her brother and grips his shoulder with one hand. He stills under her touch and the look he gives her is enough to make her understand. "He… told you, didn't he?"_

_"Sansa, why didn't you talk to me?" Robb asks but her throat is dry and the fear lodged in her throat betrays her ability to speak._

_Sansa shakes her head and she takes a step away. The anger and the betrayal and the fear of Robb finally knowing are enough to take her breath away._

_"Sansa?" He tries again but she finds she's forgotten how to speak. She opens her mouth but no sound comes out and she closes it again, pursing them tightly together as she stares up at her big brother. Robb sighs and wraps his arms around her, tucking her head underneath his chin. "Oh Sans… I just don't understand. I'm your brother. Why wouldn't you tell me? I could've protected you."_

_That one word jars her so deeply she presses her palms against Robb's chest and shoves him back. "No one can protect me," she says and flinches when she hears how cold her voice sounds. Sansa clears her throat. "I won't have you or Jon or anyone fight my battles for me."_

_"That's not what I meant," Robb is quick to explain. "I'm your_ brother _. It's my job to look out for you."_

_"And what would you have done?" Sansa asks. "Would you have insisted I stop dating Joffrey? Because you did and I was still too stupid to believe you." Her voice is steady as she speaks but the hysteria thrums through her like the pulsing of her blood in her veins. "Or would you have hurt him and made him bleed all over himself? Because Jon did and still he came after me. There is nothing you could have done and nothing you can do."_

_Robb is silent for some time and she should feel victory in causing her brother to become so speechless but she feels nothing, only deep sadness._

_"Did Jon really make him bleed all over himself?" Robb finally speaks and the question makes Sansa laugh and suddenly the atmosphere feels lighter already._

_"He did," she nods. "Didn't he tell you?"_

_"Oh you know Jon," Robb says with a half-hearted chuckle. He walks to the sofa in front of the fireplace and gestures for her to sit with him. "He says he punched Joffrey and that was it. I doubt he would have even told me if he didn't come back that night with bloody knuckles."_

_"He was being modest," Sansa tells her brother. "If I hadn't pulled him off, I think he would've killed him."_

_Robb snorts and the silence returns as the two oldest Stark siblings sit side-by-side, staring into the flickering orange and red flames. What Robb says next has Sansa's heart contorting in the most painful way._

_"I can't forgive him for lying to me."_

_"Robb…"_

_"I can't," Robb says again and this time there is an edge to his words that keeps her quiet. "We grew up practically like brothers. He betrayed that trust."_

_"To protect me," Sansa elbows Robb. "Don't throw that away."_

_"And what about you, Sansa?" Robb turns to her with one hand rubbing at where she had elbowed him. "You're mad at him too I can tell."_

_She thinks about Jon and his dark eyes. She thinks of the warmth in them when he's with her and she thinks of how she had once again allowed herself to place all of her trust in a boy. Even it is Jon. Even if she knows he could never intentionally hurt her. He is still a boy – a boy who makes her feel too vulnerable and too comfortable all at the same time. And she also knows that he will always be more loyal to her brother than to her and that in itself means she needs to stay away._

_"No," Sansa eventually says. "I can't be around him."_

Sansa feels a sharp pain against her hip bone and she turns brusquely to Jeyne who is sitting beside her. Her brows narrow and she thinks of telling her friend to stop poking her or else she’ll tell the whole school about Jeyne’s inappropriate crush on Professor Mormont in third year when she hears her name being called at the front. 

"Miss Stark, thank you for honouring us with your attention," Professor Kardent says curtly.

Sansa flushes from her neck to the tips of her ears. She mumbles an apology and spends the rest of the lesson furiously writing down everything the professor says. She feels so admonished and mortified she doesn't even realise she's written Professor Kardent's hasty goodbye to the students as the lesson ends. 

Jeyne snorts. "You act as if that's the first time a professor's scolded you in front of a class."

"It is!" Sansa returns. "Well… since first year." 

"When…" 

"When Professor Mormont caught me with Robb's notebook," Sansa finishes with a groan. 

It had been another prank her brother had set up. The notebook was bought at Weasley's joke shop and given as a seemingly well-wishing present for Sansa. She had been so horrified when twenty minutes after scribbling all her notes down, the notebook suddenly exploded in a mist of colours. 

Jeyne laughs and links her arm through Sansa's to steer her out of the Potions classroom. Their heads are turned to each other, whispering about this and that, when several figures appear in front of them. 

Sansa looks up and pales considerably. 

"Are you going to wish me a good game this weekend, little dove?" Joffrey asks with a sneer. The three other Slytherin players behind him snigger. "How about a little kiss too, huh?"

She feels Jeyne tighten her hold around Sansa's arm but remains silent beside her. 

"I hope you lose," Sansa responds quickly before the fear in the back her throat takes too much control over her tongue. "I hope my sister beats you out of the sky." 

Joffrey throws his head back and laughs but there is an angry glint in his eyes. She knows she hit a nerve and that makes Sansa smile ever-so-slightly – only a twitch of her lips to indicate her amusement. She's always known Joffrey's masculinity was as weak and pathetic as the boy himself. That's why Sansa chose to mention Arya and not Jon even if he is the superior beater. 

"If your bitch of a sister touches me, she'll find herself in the hospital wing for the next month," Joffrey promises, and her blood boils underneath her skin at the threat.

Sansa pulls her arm from Jeyne's and steps forward, coming nose-to-nose with Joffrey. "You touch my sister, you touch a hair on her head and I will hurt you, Joffrey. I will make you bleed," Sansa makes a promise of her own. It doesn't sound nearly as threatening as Joffrey's but when she makes a promise, she always keeps it. 

His hand shoots out to grip Sansa's chin tightly between his forefinger and thumb. "It's cute you think you can threaten me. Kind of hot actually." Joffrey licks his lips and Sansa struggles to move away from him.

" _Let her go_."

Joffrey's eyes dart to someone behind her and she sees the indecision in them before he finally lets go. He makes a displeased grunt before fixing his gaze on Sansa. The look he gives her makes her skin crawl. "C'mon," Joffrey snaps then as he turns and leads his posse down the corridor towards the Slytherin common room.

Sansa whirls around and finds Robb and Theon standing shoulder-to-shoulder, arms crossed over their chests and two equally menacing glares on their faces. When their eyes flicker to hers, they both soften. 

"That little cunt think he's so hard," Theon spits out. "Did ya know he once wet his bed in first year?"

Jeyne starts to laugh raucously but Sansa pays no mind to her. She’s staring at her brother, who is staring right back with a quizzical expression. 

“What?” he finally asks.

“I didn’t need you to save me,” Sansa answers back, and a part of knows she’s being unreasonable and even ungrateful but she will never learn to stand up for herself if everyone keeps coming to her rescue. She is not a little dove with clipped wings in need of mending. She can’t be – _no_ , she won’t be.

“It wasn’t about _saving_ you. I was just being a good brother.” 

“Then let me handle Joffrey.” Sansa squares her shoulders to face her brother. She won’t back down on this but by the way he is scowling she doesn’t think Robb will either and before he can speak, she cuts him off. “I have to go.” She grabs Jeyne by her wrist and tugs. “C’mon.” 

Sansa doesn’t lead them anywhere in particular. She just needs to get away from Robb because as unreasonable and ungrateful as she is, she doesn’t want to rely on anyone else. Sansa knows better than anyone that no one can truly protect her from Joffrey. He always finds her alone – that is almost a guarantee – and so she has to learn. She has to be able to stand up for herself. 

No Robb. And definitely no Jon. 

Sansa briefly closes her eyes and steels herself against the ache she’s become so familiar with. She may be angry with him but she misses him. It’s an absurd thing to miss someone she barely knew because for all they might have grown up together, Jon hadn’t given her the kind of attention and care he gives her siblings since they were barely out of diapers. She doesn’t even know enough about Jon to know what he’s studying for NEWTs or what he plans on doing after Hogwarts. She doesn’t know if he still forgets to eat fruits every now and then or if he still has a picture of the wolf-dog he left behind in Canada when he moved back to England. 

Jon Snow is a stranger to her and she can’t put her trust in a stranger if she isn’t even willing to do so with her own brother – especially when he has made it clear he values Robb’s friendship more than hers. 

Why that hurts her as much as it does Sansa doesn’t know. Maybe in some childish part of her heart she hoped Jon was still her protector. She knows he _cares_ – she has no doubt – but it does make her wonder if he isn’t partially protective of her because she’s Robb’s sister. Not because she’s a priority to him. 

“ _Sansa_ ,” Jeyne stops walking and Sansa is jerked back to the present. She blinks up at her best friend, whose eyes are swimming with concern. “What is going on with you?” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Sansa crosses her arms over her chest and averts her eyes. 

“You do too,” Jeyne presses on. “You’re mad at Jon. You’re picking fights with Robb. And Joffrey acts as if he owns you.” 

“He _doesn’t_ ,” Sansa nearly spits. “He will never own me.” 

“Then what is going on!” Jeyne cries out, and she takes Sansa’s hand in hers to force Sansa to look at her. She obliges. “Sansa, please just talk to me. Maybe I can help.” 

Sansa raises a hand to Jeyne’s cheek and smiles. She can feel her heart wilting at the hurt and confusion she’s causing her best and truest friend but she is resolute in her decision. “You can’t. All you need to know is I’ll be fine. I’ll be okay. Joffrey won’t best me.” 

“You promise?” 

“I’m a Stark, aren’t I? Our house crest is a wolf.”

Jeyne laughs and rolls her eyes. “The red wolf.” 

This time, Sansa laughs with her, and though her heart still aches and groans to let the people she loves into her life, she knows she’s making the right decision. 

**\----**

**Jon:**

"Don't start what you can't finish, Jon Snow."

Jon glances down at Ygritte and arches his brow inquisitively. She gestures to his hand that has now slipped under her shirt, drawing lazy circles across her bare skin. He chuckles and withdraws it before placing it on the back of her neck and drawing her up to kiss him. 

"Sorry," he mumbles against her lips. Jon feels her body rumble with laughter, her hands finding their way to his chest, gripping into his shirt and deepening the kiss before she shoves him away altogether.

"I wouldn't mind if I didn't have to read _four_ bloody chapters for Transfiguration by tomorrow morning," Ygritte tells him with a coy smile. "How about a rain check?" 

"I can live with that." 

After he steals one more kiss, he turns his focus back to his own reading assignment. He is thoroughly engrossed in the rise of dark magic during Voldemort's reign when there is laughter just outside the common room. He didn't think anyone would still be up this late on a school night but Jon shouldn't have been surprised to see Robb, Sansa and Arya filing in. 

"Jon!" Arya shouts only to be admonished a second later by Sansa who says to be considerate of the other students sleeping. Arya rolls her eyes but in an effort to please her older sister, she says in a much quieter voice. "What are you still doing up?" 

"Ygritte and I were just finishing up our homework for tomorrow," Jon answers simply. Although he is looking at the youngest Stark daughter, he is hyper aware of the eldest without even having to glance at her. Jon doesn't think he has ever been more desperate to know how another person is doing. 

"Ugh, _boring_ ," Arya says, and plops down next to Jon. He rearranges himself so all of his limbs are to himself and not half hazardly thrown over his girlfriend as it was before. 

"Go to sleep, Arya," Sansa says, and finally Jon allows himself to look at her and he thinks she looks well – better than he's seen her in a long time. Why does he feel so relieved and so anguished by that? 

Arya pouts and crosses her arms over her chest. "You're not. Robb's not. Jon's not. Why should I?" 

"Because you have a test tomorrow morning."

"Shit, how do you know that?" Arya groans but she pushes herself off of the sofa. She pats Jon on the head and drags her feet all the way up towards the girls' dormitory. 

Sansa turns to hug Robb tightly. "I should go too," she says to him. "Good night. You need a ton of rest for tomorrow's game." 

Robb smiles at his sister and ruffles her hair, which makes Sansa let out a frustrated little sigh. 

As she turns to leave, Jon has to hold himself back from jumping up after her. The glare Robb sends his way helps and Jon only just watches as she disappears into the tunnel leading back to the entrance. 

When Robb stomps away too, Jon's whole body sags into the sofa. He still has Arya and the boys but Robb is his oldest friend – his _best_ friend – and Sansa is… 

"Is it selfish of me to say the past couple weeks have been the most fun I've had with you since summer?" Ygritte's voice startles him. She has her head propped up in one hand against the sofa's back. There's a smile on her lips but it doesn't reach her eyes. 

"No, why would that make you selfish?"

"Jon," Ygritte sighs and shakes her head. "You really do know nothing, don't you?" 

"What don’t I know?" 

"The more you distance yourself from the Starks, the more you come to me," Ygritte says. "This summer? We wouldn't have even gotten to know each other if you hadn't run away from them." 

"I didn't run away," Jon started to say but Ygritte silences him with a look. 

"Jon," she leans forward and takes him by the hand. "I love this. I love us but you're being a moron if you keep this up. You're miserable without Robb and Sansa." 

He doesn't make to give her a half-hearted excuse because she’s right. Somehow Ygritte is always right because he _is_ miserable without them. 

"They hate me." 

"I never took you for a drama queen," Ygritte snorts. "They don't _hate_ you. They're just mad. Figure out how to make it up to them and do it." 

"What if I don't know how?"

" _Jon_ …"

"Okay, I'll figure it out." 

And he did have every intention of figuring it out, even going to Sam for advice, but with the Gryffindor versus Slytherin game coming up, Jon didn't have the time.

Even as he thinks this, he knows he is a liar and a coward. 

There is little that truly terrifies him than the wrath of a Stark, specifically that of a certain auburn-haired teenager. He remembers when he accidentally broke her princess doll when he was ten and she threw several pairs of shoes at his head – not to mention his jaw still aches where Robb had punched him. Jon doesn't fancy round two with his former best friend, but he also doesn't know how much longer he can bear to be without them. 

Although it may seem Robb is closest to Theon and Jon to Sam, there is a brotherhood between the two Gryffindors that goes beyond what most people know. If not for Robb, Jon doesn't know if he could have pulled through his mum's death as well as he did. A part of him wonders if he would have even come back to Hogwarts. He had deluded himself over the summer in believing Scotland was where he belonged – where he could become a ranger like Brandon Stark before his death in the line of duty. There was honour there. Jon would have helped a lot of people, protecting them from the magical creatures in the Cantanta Forest and the creatures from them.

"Don't be an idiot, Jon," Robb had said when he finally managed to track him down in his one room flat. "You're not going to stay here and be a bloody ranger." He had then shoved all of Jon's clothes into a duffel bag and hauled it over his shoulder. "Come home. Everyone misses you and Mum's making lamb roast tonight. If you make me late, I _will_ hex you." 

Of course Jon had refused at first, tugging the duffel bag off of Robb's shoulder and pulling his clothes back out.

"What's your plan, huh?" Robb had then asked. "Stay here and sulk for the rest of your life?" 

Jon's insistence that he wasn't sulking hadn't gone down well with his friend because what he said next still sits heavily on his mind today. 

"Your mum's dead, Jon. Don't let yourself die with her. You still have a family – and no, I'm not talking about that prick who shares your blood. You have us. We're your family. Don't abandon us like he did you and your mum."

Is that what he's doing now? By letting his fear and guilt dictate his actions – or lack thereof – is he abandoning Robb and Sansa? 

A small voice in the back of his head says he is and that fills him with self-loathing.

Jon will _not_ be like his 'father'. He may not be have the blood of the wolf running through his veins but he was still raised by Eddard Stark. He knows true honour and bravery.

Pulling on his quidditch robes, Jon waits in the changing rooms for the rest of his team to arrive. He is more nervous than he should be considering it is only the first game and even if they lose they can still claw their way into the finals but a lot more is riding on this game than just the quidditch cup. It's Joffrey's first test as the new Slytherin captain and Jon wants to see him burn. 

The door opens with a bang, framing Robb in the light spilling from outside. He doesn't see Jon at first but when he does, the scowl is there like it has been for the past couple of weeks. Jon is prepared for it yet it doesn't stop hurting any less to be on the receiving end of Robb's anger. 

"How are you feeling?" Jon asks. They could sit in this changing room and not speak till the others arrive but with the revelation that Jon needs to do better fresh in his mind, he is determined to fight through Robb's chilly exterior. 

" _Fine_." 

"Are you ready for the game today?" Jon persists. 

" _Yes._ "

Robb turns his back to Jon and begins to pull clothes out from his bag. Jon sighs and rubs a hand over his face, feeling the stubble prickling over his palm. 

"Robb, we can't go into this game like this." There's no answer and so Jon continues. "I've apologised. You have to know I was only looking out for Sansa so I don't –" 

"If you cared about her, you would've told me!" Robb snaps, and now he is facing Jon fully. "I'm her brother. I'm the one responsible for her! Not you!"

"Do you really think I don't care about Sansa?" asks Jon irritably. "I grew up with her just like you. I want to protect her too." 

"She's _not_ your sister!"

"But she's…" Jon starts to say but he falters. 

She's what? His friend? _Are_ they friends? 

Their evening in the Forbidden Forest abruptly comes to mind and he thinks somehow in this mess with Joffrey, she has become someone he can actually be comfortable with. This is a revelation. He can count on one hand the people he's really himself around and he never thought Sansa Stark would be one of them. 

"You should've told me," Robb repeats again.

"Get dressed," is all Jon says because he realises there will be no talking sense with Robb today. He wonders if there ever will be. 

If Robb had something to say he doesn’t get a chance because the rest of the team subsequently comes barging into the changing rooms. There’s shouting, and laughter at the expense of the Slytherins, jokes about Joffrey’s manhood and various explicit tellings of how a lion can kill a snake. By the time everyone is dressed and there’s a hum of chanting coming from the pitch outside, Jon feels the adrenaline thrumming under her skin so fast he thinks he might pass out from it. He doesn’t have time to worry about Robb right now. He’s a captain and he has a team to lead – a team that needs to crush the Slytherins at all costs.

“By now you all know I’m not a man of many words,” Jon begins only to hear one of the sixth years snort loudly. Arya elbows him in the gut and he quickly quiets down. Jon sighs and continues. “I don’t have a pep talk for you. I’m not going to tell you this will be easy. The Slytherins are always tough but we’ve worked hard to get here. Just remember the plays, remember to talk to each other and protect Lyanna.” All eyes flicker to the youngest and newest member of the Gryffindor team. The small dark-haired seeker returns each of their gaze with a raised brow. 

Jon likes her. He did from the start and even more so once he’s seen how quick and fearless she is in the sky. She’s tough for her age, and quiet and observant too. She understands more than people think and she uses that to her advantage. 

Jon leads the team out onto the pitch. The crowd erupts in a cacophony of noise and bells and horns that disorients him to no end. He looks to the Gryffindor side and wonders where Ygritte is sitting. He then glances towards the Ravenclaws who are half decked in green and half in crimson. He knows Bran and Rickon will be with Sansa today sporting the house of their two siblings. He hopes she’s doing okay. This must not be easy for her – seeing Joffrey up here, people singing his praises without knowing the true evil of his nature. 

_She’s strong_ , he reminds himself. _Sansa will be okay._

Professor Cassel gestures for both Jon and Joffrey to meet in the middle. He goes over the rules and emphasies his intolerance for fouls before urging the two captains to shake hands. 

For a long minute, Jon merely stares at Joffrey. He doesn’t scowl. He doesn’t sneer. He doesn’t even threaten him. Jon only stares. 

“No sportsmanship, huh?” Joffrey laughs wickedly. “I guess when you’re a bastard there’s no one around to teach you any manners.”

“Baratheon, that’s enough!” Professor Cassel barks. He shoos them both away and Jon returns to his team, waiting for the inevitable whistle. He flexes his grip on his broomstick. The nerves he feels before every game is there as it always is but now it’s laced with an urgency and desperation to win. Jon cannot let Joffrey succeed when he knows the blonde-haired wanker will only lord it over Sansa. 

The professor glances at both ends of the pitch with his whistle poised in between his lips. 

“Teams at the ready?”

There is a flurry of movement as Jon kicks up into the sky. The quaffles and the bludgers are released first before a flutter of gold is seen speeding way only to be lost in the dark blue of the sky. Jon signals to Arya and the two start their formation around the Slytherin chasers, their eyes on the bludger as it nears them. Jon swings his bat and sends one flying at the nearest green-clad player, smiling with satisfaction as the girl was too slow to manoeuvre out of its line of attack. Her broom spins wildly and the quaffle she had in her hands drops down into the waiting hands of one of Jon’s teammates. 

Within the first hour, Jon starts to feel a little smug. Gryffindor is up by at least sixty points with Slytherin struggling to catch up. If they keep going at this rate, they can widdle in another forty points to further their lead. This gives Lyanna some room to breathe. It _is_ her first match and he expects the nerves to affect her even if she looks as relaxed as can be. 

“Don’t sit still,” Jon murmurs to the young girl as he flies by. “Your muscles will go cold. Keep moving. Psych out their seeker.” 

Lyanna nods and feints to the left, jerking the Slytherin seeker to follow curiously. 

That’s another thing he likes about her. She listens to him and is a quick learner. At this rate, she’s going to be the best quidditch player Gryffindor has ever seen. Jon is disappointed he’ll miss the rest of her quidditch career here. 

Arya sends a bludger at a cluster of Slytherin players but catches none. It however shoots straight for Jon, who is on the other side of the pitch, so he bats it back into the centre, aiming it directly at a blonde-haired cunt. 

“Your little bludger won’t stop me, Snow,” Joffrey shouts as he easily dodges it. “But what’s new? You couldn’t stop me from claiming what is rightfully mine before. What makes you think you’ll be able to now?” He throws his head back and laughs derisively. 

He doesn’t have to say it for Jon to know what he means. By the speed Robb is flying towards Joffrey, neither does his former best friend. 

Robb’s fist goes flying into Joffrey’s jaw, catching him by surprise. There’s a hush across the pitch before Joffrey is swinging his broom towards Robb to retaliate but Robb is too fast. He evades Joffrey’s pathetic swing and catches the boy in the crook of his arm and body.

“Robb!” Jon shouts as he speeds across the sky towards them. His hand clasps around his friend’s arm, pulling and tugging as hard as he can. “Let him go!” 

Robb’s eyes flicker to Jon with incredulity. “He hurt Sansa and you want me to let him go?” 

“You’re going to kill him,” Jon tries again and this time he successfully pulls Joffrey free, who flees immediately after. “This is not the time or place.” 

“Are you fucking serious?” Robb shouts. “Do you think he showed that kind of courtesy to my sister when he hurt her?” There’s a stillness around them and Jon knows people are listening intently now to this conversation. This is not what Sansa would want. This is all so wrong. 

“Robb, _please…_ ” 

“Don’t tell me what I should or shouldn’t do!” Robb is still shouting and Jon has half a mind to knock the bloody oaf out of the sky for it. “You’re supposed to be my best friend!” 

“I am your best friend!” Jon groans in frustration. “Which is why I’m telling you to _shut up_ , Robb. This isn’t…” 

There’s a movement in the corner of his eye and he barely has time to register what it is before Arya’s shouting confirms what he feared. The bludger hits him squarely in the chest and he hears the _crack_ of bones breaking and then… nothing. 

No pain. No feeling. 

Just. _Nothing_. 


	7. Distraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE DON'T HATE ME.
> 
> I love you all so much for reading and commenting and being so invested in this story, so please, please don't hate me for the incredibly late chapter. 
> 
> I lost my muse for this story for a long, long time, and work piling on more responsibilities wasn't helping me at all with gaining it back. I've tried many different ways to start this chapter to fit with the timeline I have but ultimately I just had to let the characters write themselves. I'm not super pleased with how it turned out and I'm fairly sure there's an abundance of grammatical mistakes here but I hope you guys like it all the same! 
> 
> Again, super sorry for the late chapter. I wish I could say I'm back on my game now but I don't want to make false promises. I'll be trying my damndest though to finish this story so bear with me! <3 
> 
> Thank you for reading as always!!!! Much loves and hugs!

**Jon:**

When Jon comes to, it takes him a couple of minutes to really gather he's not alone in the room because the dull aching in his bones is all he can focus on at first. It’s not painful, not exactly, but regrowing bones is not the most pleasant sensation around either. It’s a far cry from what muggles surely feel but Jon has a hard time finding the silver lining in this mess. He simply knows Gryffindor lost. He’s not arrogant by any means, not in the way Robb and Theon are, but without him, with the disruption his accident would have surely caused, Jon doesn’t think Gryffindor could have won. Slytherin would’ve pushed forward, and as much as he is loathed to admit it Joffrey is not dumb enough not to take advantage of that. 

The voices eventually register to him and he stiffens. He didn't think she'd want to be anywhere near him right now. Being hit with a bludger hardly redeems him from betraying her. 

"Why isn't Robb coming?" 

"I told you, Arya, he's busy." 

"That's such shit and you know it!" 

" _Language_ ," Sansa hisses. "And keep your voice down. We're not the only people in here." 

"What is with you guys?" Arya persists. "What happened? I'm not stupid, you know? Anyone with eyes can seel that you three are in some sort of weird fight." 

Jon wonders if he should open his eyes and let them know he's awake but he's too curious to move, and truth be told, he's afraid if he does move, Sansa will leave. 

"It's not important, Arya," Sansa says, sounding more exasperated by the second. "Please just forget about it." 

"No," Arya says angrily. "How am I supposed to forget the fact that my family's being total idiots right now?" 

"Because it doesn't matter, okay!" Sansa nearly shouts. He hears the scraping of a chair being pushed back on the linoleum floor. "It doesn't. All that matters is Jon and he's okay so just forget it." He hears more movement but he's not sure what's happening. He can't really tell but then she speaks again and his heart drops. "I'm leaving. I got… I got work to do."

The sound of her footsteps echo in the quiet hospital wing before the door swings shut behind her. Jon is alone with Arya now, and though he is always happy to be with the younger Stark girl, he has to admit he feels somewhat disappointed that she's not the _right_ Stark girl. 

"You can stop pretending you're asleep now, you prick," Arya says but there's amusement in her voice, so Jon opens his eyes and cracks a smile. He instantly winces as the light overhead blinds him. 

"How long was I out for?" 

"A week," Arya shrugs. "You're lucky it's not longer or else you'd be spending the holidays at Hogwarts."

Jon rubs his eyes and sighs. "Might be preferable." 

Arya peels his hands from his eyes and he sees her frown. Although she has the dark hair and grey eyes typical of a Stark child, she looks so much like her mother and Sansa right now. It completely unnerves him. 

"Will _you_ tell me what's going on?" she asks him. "Or are you going to be a bitch about it too?" 

It's Jon's turn to frown now. "Your sister is not a bitch." 

"Well she's acting like one!" Arya throws her hands up in defeat. "Why won't anyone in this bloody family just tell me what's going on?"

Jon groans with frustration. He doesn't want to lie to Arya but he doesn't want to betray Sansa a second time either. Once was enough – _more than enough_. If he could go through life solely to make her happy and keep from ever having to see the anger and hurt in her eyes again, he thinks he would. 

"I can't tell you," Jon says, and quickly silences Arya with a raised hand. "But I _can_ say Sansa told me a secret. She didn't want me to tell Robb but I told Robb anyways because he deserves to know and now Robb's mad at me for keeping the secret and Sansa's mad at me for spilling the secret." 

Arya's frown deepens. She opens her mouth to say something but then closes it a second later. "I shouldn't ask what the secret is, should I?" He shakes his head and she exhales heavily. "Fine, I won't ask. But you gotta stop beating yourself up over it." 

Jon pushes himself up so he's leaning against the headboard. "Their anger is justified, Arya."

"No, it's not," and she's the one to silence him this time. "I _know_ you. You're more loyal than a dog. You don't know how to betray people even if someone put a wand to your throat, so yeah, I can assure you, Jon, you are not in the wrong here. Whatever it is." 

"You don't even know what the secret is," he points out, unwilling to let himself off that easily.

"Does it matter?" Arya arches a brow. "Did you mean to betray either of them?" He shakes his head. "Did you believe you had no choice in either matter?" He nods. "Then stop sulking and just forgive yourself for Godric's sake!" 

Jon can't help but laugh abruptly. It hurts to do so and his ribs groan in protest at it but he laughs anyways. "I'd hug you if I could move." 

"I'd hex you if you tried," Arya retorts with a smirk. 

He's finally let out of the hospital wing two days later. In that time neither Robb nor Sansa came to see him but he was bombarded by constant round-the-clock visits from the rest of the Stark family and Ygritte, Theon and Sam. They recall to him Gryffindor's devastating loss after Jon's fall from the sky. Apparently Professor Cassel barely had time to save Jon from crashing to his death and the way his body looked mangled anyways had put his team on edge, making them easy prey for the Slytherins. 

Theon said the common room had been unbearable that night and even he didn't _want_ to stay and celebrate although he had a sure thing. Arya punched him for that and Jon was secretly glad. 

Sam came just after lunch on the first day and told him about how he finally mustered up the courage to talk to Gilly. He only asked her for an extra quill but he said it was more than he said to her last year so that's progress. 

Bran and Rickon brought Jon muffins the following day and Ygritte showed up that evening to help him back to the Gryffindor Tower. She berated him for being such an idiot and then kissed him when he opened his mouth to speak.

It was nice to be cared for by the people he loved the most but that just made Robb and Sansa's absences all the more poignant. He misses them and it kills him not to be able to see them. Robb's his _best friend_. Theirs is a bond that has kept Jon afloat through the many turbulent moments with his mum over the years and even through the more trivial things every teenage boy goes through. 

Over the next couple of weeks, Jon is banned from quidditch training by Professor Cassel and Madame Bloomthwistle. He’s completely healed but his regrown bones are still new and need time to strengthen. There’s a potion he can take to make the process run faster but Arya punches him for even asking about it. It’s only a temporary fix anyways and he knows the risk of his bones weakening in the long run are too high, but Godric, he is just _so bored_. Jon is a Gryffindor for crying out loud. Lying in the common room and doing his homework is not in his blood. He needs to be _doing_ something – anything. But everyone’s refused to let him even step foot on the quidditch pitch. Jon wonders if they have a tracking charm on him because any time he even steers close to the pitch someone pops up out of nowhere and shoos him away. On one occasion, Theon even stupefied him and carried him back to the Gryffindor Tower. _That_ had earned the bloody git a bat-bogey hex the following morning. 

By the time the holidays come around, Jon is infinitely more glad than he had been a month ago at the prospect of leaving Hogwarts. He is so thrilled to actually be doing something new that it doesn’t even hit him till he’s on the train packed into a compartment with his friends that this is his first Christmas without his mum. 

The sobering realisation has him slumping his shoulders forward and turning his face towards the window to watch the countryside whizz by. If he tried really hard, he could pretend it was Canada, sitting on a bus as it sped through the country from Vancouver to Quebec then back again. He could pretend his mother was sitting beside him right now, one arm slung over his shoulder, telling him how wonderful their new life out here was. But even pressed against her side with his childish wonder at a new country and life, Jon knew then as he knows now that they had only been running. At the time, Jon hadn’t known _what_ they were running from, only that Lyanna Snow had been running all her life and he was just glad to finally be taken along with her. Now, Jon knows it was because of _him_. The timing lined up. Jon was seven when Lyanna swept back into his life and dragged him to Canada. It was the same year Rhaeger Targaryen began his campaign for Minister of Magic, throwing his own family into the spotlight. Their faces were on every newspaper across Wizarding Britain. Elia Targaryen was in every society page traipsing around London with her two children. Jon knew because he had looked it up the night of Lyanna’s death. 

It had been too hard then to think of Rhaeger as his father so he looked up both his half-siblings. 

Rhaenys and Aegon both attended Beauxbatons. It had been scandalous for the future Minister of Magic to send his children somewhere other than Hogwarts but Elia Targaryen had insisted on shielding them from the scrutiny that would surely follow in Britain. Or so she told the Daily Prophet in an interview. There wasn’t much on them though so it must have worked. 

Jon remembered the disappointment of not learning any more about his half-siblings. It was a different kind of pain from losing his mother. It was the pain of losing something he never had – but it was quickly eased away when Robb found him in the library later that evening to ask if he wanted to go chuck quaffles at Theon who was hopped up on a Cheering Charm and stuck on one of the quidditch hoops. 

He realised that night he _didn’t_ need to know his half-siblings. He already has more family than he could possibly know what to do with, because the Starks, maybe not by blood, _are_ his family. 

“Where are you going?” Bran asks, looking up from the game of Exploding Snaps he has going with Rickon. 

“I’m going to go find Robb,” Jon answers with a smile. 

Bran merely nods. If he’s been wondering about the distance between them in recent weeks he doesn’t say anything and Jon is glad for it. Arya is less so accommodating as she smirks up at him and sniggers when he shoves her feet off of the bench so he can pass. 

It doesn’t take long for Jon to find Robb. As he had suspected, the eldest Stark is in the last compartment of the fourth carriage draped over Margaery Tyrell, the Head Girl. 

Jon doesn’t bother to knock. “Robb, can I speak to you a moment?” 

His former best friend considers it and then sighs. He stands up slowly. “Fine. But you have five minutes, Snow.” 

Jon has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. He steps back so Robb can exit the compartment door before leading them to a faraway corner down the narrow corridor. 

“When did you and Margaery become a thing?” Jon asks, inwardly wincing at his cowardice. 

Robb’s eyes alight and his lips twitch before becoming impassive once again. “A month ago. But we’re not a thing. We have an arrangement.”

“Like how you and Nymeria Sand had an arrangement?”

“Oh Merlin no,” Robb laughs and immediately sobers up when he realises what he had just done. “What do you want, Jon?” 

_At least it’s not Snow,_ Jon thinks.

“My father’s Rhaeger Targaryen,” Jon says quickly without preamble. As expected, Robb’s mouth drops open and he splutters for a few seconds, so Jon hurries through before he can think too much about what he’s admitting. “He’s the one that’s been owling me every other day. He wants to meet. To apologise in person I guess. And…” Jon runs his hands through his hair. “And to meet my half-siblings. But I don’t have any intention of doing that. I already have a family.” He says the last five words pointedly, desperate for Robb to see his meaning. 

Robb doesn’t say anything and the silence becomes deafening the longer it goes on. Jon fidgets where he’s standing. He’s only told Sam about Rhaeger – well, the truth is if Sam hadn’t been there that day to make him open the letter, he might not have told anyone at all. 

“I know you’re mad but can you say something?”

“But you’re… How…” Robb closes his mouth and shakes his head. “ _Fucking hell_ , you’re a Targaryen!” 

“Shut up!” Jon quickly hushes him before anyone else can overhear them. “That’s not something I want the whole bloody school to know.” 

“Oh gods, why not?” Robb has seemed to regain his senses now because he’s smiling so widely it’s really quite disarming. “You’re bloody minted, mate!”

Jon rolls his eyes. “I have money.” 

“Yeah but he has _more_ money!” Robb quickly replies. “And a mansion. _And_ a summer house in France.” 

“I don’t want anything to do with him, Robb,” Jon cuts him off with a scowl. “That’s not why I told you.” 

“Then why _did_ you tell me?” 

“Because despite what you think, you’re still my best friend,” Jon says more quietly now. “And I need your help.”

“With what?” Rob’s expression is more guarded now, but that was expected. 

“The last letter he sent said he’ll be waiting at the platform,” Jon says. “There’s something he wants to discuss with me but I don’t want to see him. I can’t. After all the shit he’s put my mum through, I feel like… Anyway, I need you to help me get past him so I can apparate home before he sees me.” 

“So a distraction, yeah?” When Jon nods his reply, Robb’s smile turns into a smirk. “You can count on me. But just so you know, this doesn’t mean we’re okay. I’m still fucking furious with you about what you did and it’ll take me a long time to forgive you… but you’re right.” Robb shrugs. “We’re best friends. Even if I want to punch your stupid face every time I see it right now, I’ll always have your back.”

“That’s comforting,” Jon snorts. “But thanks.” 

“Yeah, don’t mention it,” Robb shrugs again and begins to walk back towards his compartment. “So about your new sister…”

“ _Don’t_.” 

\-----

**Sansa:**

For the past eight months, Sansa has been having nightmares about Joffrey. Every time she closes her eyes she sees him looming over her. She can feel his fingers on her skin as they inch closer and closer to places she has never dared let another person touch, and every time her heart seizes in her throat like it’s trying to escape the horror of her mind, but just before he’s able to do anything truly heinous, she abruptly wakes up in a panic, cold sweat trickling down the back of her neck. It’s at both a relief to be awake and a curse to know he still affects her so. 

Except she hasn’t dreamt about Joffrey in nearly three weeks. Instead of him she sees behind closed eyes, she sees Jon. She watches over and over again as he falls to the ground, his broomstick hurtling ahead of him, broken into two pieces. Each time, she hears that sickening crack of bones crushing as he meets the ground. Sometimes she’s in the air with him and she’s racing to save him. Other times she’s the one holding the bat. _She’s_ the one that killed him. 

At least there’s one consistency between all of her nightmares: Sansa always wakes up drenched in her own sweat with tear tracks down her cheeks. It’s pathetic and embarrassing, and she is only glad there are drapes around her four-poster bed to hide her sorry state from her dorm-mates. 

The anxiety she feels now is over what will happen when she’s back home. What if she falls asleep on the couch? What if her parents walk into her bedroom and see or even hear her speaking in her sleep? Sansa doesn’t know how to explain any of this to them. To them, Joffrey and her are on amicable terms. The breakup, she had told them last year, was simply due to her desire to focus on NEWTs and nothing more. It was too complicated and messy to say anything more. 

Her father may have his own constituency in Scotland where he holds a great amount of influence and respect but as Scotland is still apart of the United Kingdom, Eddard Stark still answers to the Ministry of Magic in London. For the most part, they’ve let him be but when it comes down to it, the Baratheons and the Lannisters hold far more power. If Sansa were to confide in her parents, there’s no telling what her father would do to protect her honour and she can’t let him destroy his career like that. He’s worked far too hard to get to where he is, and maybe she had once thought her father’s job duller than watching paint dry and longed for the glittering promise of London politics, but he does more good for his people than the Baratheons and Lannisters ever have combined. 

So he can’t know. He simply can’t. 

“You are awfully quiet today,” Jeyne comments, peering up at Sansa over her newest issue of Witch Weekly. “Knut for your thoughts?” 

Sansa smiles. “It’s nothing. I was just thinking about Christmas with the family. You’ll come, won’t you?” 

“Oh I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Jeyne says with an impish grin. “Watching Theon and Robb get drunk off of wine is probably the best Christmas present ever.”

“Oh Merlin,” Sansa laughs, shaking her head. “Do you remember last year when Theon went swimming naked in the fountain?” 

“Yes!” Jeyne exclaims with wide twinkling brown eyes. “Jon couldn’t pull him out fast enough.” 

Sansa smiles, nostalgia hitting a little too close to _want_. It’s been so long since she’s spoken to Jon directly. She can’t remember the last time they’ve had a conversation – has it been a month? It feels longer. _Too long_. But this is for the best. It’s what she wants. Letting Jon into her life again made her reliant on him. It was easy to fall back into their roles as children: him playing the protector and her playing the damsel in distress. Only Sansa refuses to be that damsel any longer. If Jon is always around then she’ll never learn to stand up to Joffrey. She’ll always be in need of a hero, and when the day comes Joffrey finds her alone? Then what then? Who will save her then? 

No, she is right in her decision. Jon _has_ to stay far away. It’s already bad enough Robb knows. 

“I’m really regretting my decision to not take the apparition test,” Jeyne says as the train churns to a stop. “Now I have to endure a whole car journey with my parents asking about every little thing. It’s torture.”

Sansa grabs her capacious bag and heads for the door. “I hear you complaining, Jeyne Poole, but I know you’ve really missed them.” 

There’s a grunt of indignation behind her that makes Sansa laugh. 

Not for the first time since they met in first year, Sansa thinks it must be hard for Jeyne to be at Hogwarts. As an only child to muggle parents, there isn’t much she can talk about with them. They may know about the wizarding world but there is so much they’ll never understand – and Sansa always thinks to speak to non-magical people about magic is just a slap in the face. 

“Owl me everyday, okay?” Jeyne says once they’re stepping onto the platform. Already, her best friend is waving at a couple off to the side. She turns to Sansa and hugs her tightly. “I want to know everything that happens at the Stark house – and remember, you’re the Red Wolf. Don’t let your siblings make you feel like anything else.” 

“ _Go_ , Jeyne,” Sansa smiles as she gently shoves her friend forward. “Your parents are waiting.” Jeyne makes a face but begins to walk away. At the last moment before she can get too far away to hear, Sansa calls out. “Send them my love. And invite them to the Christmas party too!” 

Jeyne raises a hand in acknowledgement then runs off towards the couple, throwing her arms around the tall brunette woman as a bald man embraces them both tightly. The sight makes Sansa smile widely and ache for her own parents. 

She rushes through the throng of people, wondering where her siblings had gone off to. They normally stay together in the last compartment on the last carriage but with Robb and her not speaking to Jon, they've all separated this journey home. 

“Little dove! My, don’t you just look lovelier each time I see you?”

Sansa’s blood runs cold. In the half a second it takes for her to turn around, she contemplates apparating right then and there but she hasn’t taken her apparition test yet and so she does (begrudgingly) turn, smiling as warmly as she can manage without grimacing. “Mrs. Baratheon, it is so nice to see you again.” 

“ _Darling_ , it’s Cersei, please,” she grins a close-mouthed smile that is more sinister than if she was outright sneering at Sansa. “It’s such a shame you are no longer with our Joffrey. Isn’t that right, Robert?”

“Yes, terrible shame,” the man next to her says. Where his wife is tall, slender and fair, Robert Baratheon is short and stocky with hair nearly as dark as a Stark’s. “Where _is_ our son? Have you seen him, Sansa?” 

“I’m here, father,” Joffrey says and Sansa feels his hand go to the small of her back. “Hello, Sansa. Mother is right. You do look more exquisite by the day.” 

She resists the temptation to kick him in the shins like Ygritte showed her once and smile back sweetly. “You’re too kind, Joffrey. I’m afraid being on the train for so long has made me a little worse for wear. I should really go find my parents.”

“Nonsense, little dove,” Cersei says, waving away her comment. “You look _beautiful_.” 

The complement feels like daggers into the shakily built walls she has around herself. Cersei has always made Sansa feel as if she were the stupidest and ugliest girl in the whole country. She has never been outrightly mean to her but it’s the way she speaks that makes Sansa question herself. Cersei is far worse than her son. 

“Indeed, mother, and I’m now forgetting why we ever broke up to begin with,” Joffrey says, and he _does_ sneer at her. 

Sansa opens her mouth to reply but she is saved from having to come up with an appropriate enough lie by the sound of a large explosion. Reds and pinks and violets are bursting out like tendrils of smokes from the centre of the platform. There is some kind of commotion there but the colours are obscuring the culprits (or victims) from sight. Sansa has a sneaking suspicion however she knows exactly who is behind the explosion and wonders if her parents are nearby enough to realise the same thing. 

It’s the perfect opportunity for Sansa to make her escape. Only when she steps away from Joffrey, his eyes snap back to hers. The glint she knows too well and has seen far too often darkens the irises of his eyes. She wants to believe he won’t try anything with his parents right there but somehow she doesn’t think they’d care. 

Joffrey reaches his hand for her but before he can touch her, Sansa feels hands wrapping around her waist and a familiar voice beside her ear: “ _trust me_.” The world falls away after that, leaving only the nauseating sensation of being sucked through a tiny hole in the pit of your stomach, but as quickly as it had come, it’s gone the moment she’s back in the world of technicolour. 

The hands immediately fall away. “I’m sorry.” 

“You say that a lot,” Sansa answers without turning around. She opts to look instead at the sun reflecting on the surface of the pond. 

“I’ve missed you.” 

“That one’s new,” Sansa says, and allows herself to smile knowing he can’t see her. “Why am I here?” 

“I meant to go home but… I guess at the last minute I just thought about our happiest memory together.” 

“You could’ve splinched us.”

“The memory was pretty strong – and remember, I passed my apparition test with a distinction.” 

“That sounds like bragging.” 

“Maybe I am. Maybe I want you to know I’m capable of more than just screwing up.” 

Sansa sighs and steps towards the pond. “You don’t have to brag for me to know that.” 

“Then why haven’t you looked at me since we got here?” he asks, sounding much closer than he did a moment ago.

“Because it’s easier this way.” 

“Is it?” 

“No.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little notes because I don't think the timeline is very clear (my fault because I'm an idiot and confused myself for awhile there). 
> 
> The quidditch game was in the second to last week of November.  
> Jon was in the hospital wing for a week.  
> Then two weeks passed by before they were let out for Christmas holidays.


	8. Holidays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear all,
> 
> I love you. Happy belated holidays and happy new year!! 
> 
> It's not quite the 24 hour post-last-chapter update I wanted but here it is. I also have a feeling this will go beyond my allotted 11-chapter timeframe so please bear with me. But I mean hey ho more JonSa chapters, right??? 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented on the last one for being so kind to my shitty posting schedule and for loving this fanfic for whatever reason. I appreciate it more than you could possibly know!! Honest to Thor and Merlin and Dumbledore! 
> 
> With that said, I do really like this chapter so I hope you guys do too! 
> 
> Much much love to you all <3
> 
> (P.S. All my fanfics are unbetad so please forgive the abundance of grammatical mistakes. I try to go back and edit them but hey, I'm lazy and I work a full-time job where I do that anyways sooooo XD Anyway, if there's anything super glaringly bad, let me know too)

**Sansa:**

“Sansa, look at me.” 

She doesn’t. Something catches her eye that has her rushing forward, dropping to her knees on the muddy bank of the pond. “Jon, look!” 

He walks forward and kneels beside her. “Do you remember…” 

“I do,” she answers, interrupting him before he can finish the question, and this time, Sansa does turn to look at him. “We both got really ill afterwards.” 

Jon laughs. “We did. Your mum was so cross with me.” 

“I don’t know why,” Sansa says, crossing her arms across her chest. “It was _my_ idea.” 

“Because I was supposed to look out for you,” he says with a shrug. “I shouldn’t have let us fall asleep out here in the cold. You were barely four.”

“And you were five,” Sansa says with a roll of her eyes. “ _Besides_ , how else were we supposed to keep the little duck warm before its friends came back for it?” 

Jon smiles at her and she smiles back.

It is too easy to fall back into their rhythm, and sitting here by the pond they grew up playing in, Sansa doesn’t remember why she has to push him away. Nothing can surely be worth losing Jon over. _Right?_

“Your nose is getting red,” Jon says, breaking the silence. “We should head home now.” 

But if they go back, reality will set in, and isn’t this _moment_ worth a few more minutes? Sansa doesn’t ask him but she smiles even wider as she takes his hand. “C’mon,” she tugs him up with her. “Let’s go see if it’s still there.” 

“ _Sansa_ , your parents will be worried,” Jon says, but he’s walking after he anyway, a similar smile on his face. She knows he’ll do anything she asks right now, just as he used to when they were younger, and Sansa has every intention of making the most of it before it all falls apart. 

They haven’t been back in years – not since Sansa was six and Jon seven. There’s a large possibility what she’s looking for isn’t there anymore but it hardly matters at this point. The dirt path leading away from the pond is hardly visible underneath the orange and red leaves. It makes her wonder if anyone walks this way anymore. Maybe not, if the growing plant life is of any indication, but it is just as well because it makes their ‘secret location’ actually a secret. 

Jon squeezes her hand, reminding her she is still holding onto him. “You know I can’t even remember what we hid,” he admits. “It’s probably not even there.” 

“I bet you it is,” Sansa says with a challenging smirk. He arches a brow in return, which only serves to make her laugh. “What? Are you scared you’ll lose a bet to me, Jon Snow?”

“Hardly,” he answers. “I’m scared of what you’ll make me do if I do lose.” 

Sansa laughs again and stops walking so she can square her shoulders towards him. “What do you think I’ll make you do? I’m not Robb.”

“But you _are_ Sansa and you were quite wicked when you were younger.” 

“I promise I won’t make you do anything immoral,” Sansa says, giggling. “Swear on Lady.” 

He jerks her forward, nearly causing her to stumble into him. “And what about nudity?” 

“ _What?_ ” Sansa nearly squeaks out, a flush rising up her cheeks. “Why would I…” 

He flicks her on the nose and laughs. “I’m only messing with you, Sans,” and now he’s the one leading her to their hopefully-still-secret location. She’ll never admit it to him but it pleases her tremendously to know he remembers the path just as well as she does.

“How about this,” Sansa starts up again. “If it’s not there, I’ll hide you when my dad rounds up the boys to go cut down a tree. But if it is there, you have to watch A Princess for Christmas with me.” 

Jon’s eyes widen and he groans loudly. “No, really? _That’s_ what you want?” 

“Yes! No one ever wants to watch it with me,” Sansa pouts now as she pulls her hand back to cross her arms over her chest. “Every Christmas Eve, you boys and Arya outvote me, and I’ve already _seen_ Die Hard at least a hundred times by now.” 

“Fine, but I’m changing my side of the bet,” Jon says, smirking. For the normally stoic boy, the expression is surprisingly fitting on his face. It makes him look… _rugged_. Like a dark prince rather than the white knight she remembers from her childhood. Sansa is momentarily blindsided by how handsome Jon has become – and whether she’s the last one to realise this like she was the last one to realise how capable he is as Gryffindor’s quidditch captain. 

“What’ll you change it to?” Sansa asks, but her voice comes out a little hoarse. She hopes he thinks it’s from the cold and rather from having such a physical reaction to _him_. 

“A whole day with me.” The smirk is gone and in its place is a shy, timid smile that Sansa finds even more attractive than his smirk. “You have to spend a whole day with me,” Jon clarifies. 

Distantly, Sansa knows this is unwise – the stubborn, determined facet of herself shouting for her to back away now. If she wants to heal from what Joffrey did to her – if she wants to be _strong_ enough to take him on – she has to let him go, but it's so hard to listen to that part of her when another louder voice is already warming at the idea of spending a whole day with just Jon. She stubbornly ignores why that could be and instead smiles back. "Deal." 

By the time the two finally make it back to the Stark's manor, Jon and Sansa are covered from head to toe in dirt, cheeks tinged pink by the biting winter wind. So it would seem Jon had been right all along. Inside the flimsy canvas bag Sansa had buried all those years ago were torn up pieces of what she could only recognise by the one tuft of blonde hair as her Sally the Seer doll. Whatever Jon had buried was long gone, but in spite of it, she still wears on her face a goofy grin. 

"There you two are!" 

Sansa and Jon stop just inside the expansive foyer of the manor. Coming down an ornate winding staircase is a tall, thin woman with auburn hair. She's frowning at the duo, and Jon immediately looks guilty. This earns him a scowl from Sansa as if it to say, ' _stop shouldering everything we do_.'

"It's my fault, Mum," she says with an innocent smile. "I made Jon take me to the duck pond. I just wanted to see something."

"And it couldn't wait till the next morning?" Catelyn Stark asks, then waves the conversation away. "Never mind that. You two better go clean up for dinner."

"Ah, right," Jon murmurs, remembering something – whatever it is clearly a source of pain for him as his face pulls taut in a way Sansa knows too well was his guarded mask. "I'll grab my trunk and head back."

Her mum might not have noticed the imperceptible change in Jon's expression but she immediately realised something else. "Actually Jon," she says, her voice not betraying anything of her casual, almost nonchalant demeanour. "I was wondering if you wouldn't mind keeping watch down by the guest house. Something keeps spooking the dogs and I know you have experience with magical creatures when you were with the Rangers." When Jon doesn't reply, her mum carries on speaking. "Of course you'll have to stay in the guest house. I know it's not ideal on your holiday but we'll pay you." 

"I… Um, there's no need to pay me, Mrs. Stark," Jon says after a moment. "I'll happily do it." He nods once to her mum and turns towards the living room where their trunks are surely waiting. Before he exits completely out of the foyer, he glances back. "Thank you." 

Sansa stares after him for a moment. "That was a nice thing you did, Mum." 

"He shouldn't have to stay in that house all by himself," she says, sadness laced in her words. "I may not have agreed much with Lyanna but no one could deny she loved her son and he her." Her mum walks over and wraps both arms around Sansa's shoulders. It had taken awhile even with her growth spurt at fourteen but they are finally eye-level. "You look a mess, Sansa." 

She laughs and embraces her mum back. "Thanks."

After her trunk is safely placed in her room and a nice long hot bath, Sansa falls down on her childhood bed, the pink and white throw pillows with the pretty embroidered stitching fall to the ground. Her red hair billows out underneath her as her her flushed skin begins to cool against the soft duvet. A quick perusal around her room and Sansa can easily determine that no one has touched it since she left for Hogwarts over three months ago. _Merlin_ , has it been only three months? It feels to her like a lifetime has passed since she got on that Hogwarts Express towards the magical castle, running like a whipped dog with her tail between her legs to avoid any confrontation with Joffrey. A lifetime since she accidentally snapped Jeyne's quill in half after learning from a fellow classmate that Joffrey had been named Slytherin's newest quidditch captain. A lifetime since she caught Jon snogging Ygritte against a wall after escaping her compartment following that piece of news.

 _Jon_ … 

She could recall the heat in her cheeks the moment her eyes latched onto their figures. Despite what she knows her classmates say, Sansa isn't really a prude. She's just careful, jaded by an ex-boyfriend who thought her no less than a plaything to do as he pleases. In all honesty, she never knew it could be any way else, because before Joffrey, there had been one other boy. An older Ravenclaw who had kissed her chastely on the lips before fleeing in fear her brother would hex him for the act. Joffrey was her first boyfriend – her _only_ boyfriend. His harsh touches, demanding words and false murmurs of appreciation had been all she knew about boys. Even when Sansa caught other couples snogging in the corridors, she always _assumed_ things were different behind closed doors, more like how Joffrey had been, maybe to a lesser extent. Somehow she couldn't remember what romance and passion and desire could look like. All the romance novels she had read could not remedy that mental block. It was as if Joffrey had taken that hopeful, yearning part of herself and threw it behind closed doors and only he had the key to unlock it. 

At least that was until she saw Jon with Ygritte. The way his hand had cradled her face. The way their bodies had been flushed together. She didn't know it could look like _that_. 

Sansa had realised something then, maybe not at first, but a little time and a little introspection went a long way and she could see clearly now how envious she had been. _She_ wanted that too. The passion, the evident lust the two had for each other – yes, Sansa could admit it now: she wants that for herself. 

There is still the problem of _who_ she wanted to do that with but it is still a nice revelation to have. Maybe Joffrey hasn't taken all of her yet. There is still something of the little hopeless romantic inside of her after all. 

A knock breaks through Sansa's thoughts and she barely has time to murmur a ' _come in_ ' before Arya throws the door open.

"I think I'm in love with someone!" 

"Uh… what?" Sansa pushes with the palm of her hands so she's sitting up in bed, staring wide-eyed at her little sister. Now that she can see her clearly, she notices instantly the wild, desperate look in her grey eyes, and Sansa bites her lip to stop herself from laughing. 

"I _know_ ," Arya growls. As if the sound summoned them, three large wolf-like dogs pad into the room and curl up at the foot of the bed. Arya slumps down beside them and curls her arms around a brownish-grey dog. "It's awful. I hate it! I can't stop thinking about his stupid face. He's so bull-headed too and sometimes I just want to punch him in it."

Now, Sansa can't help herself. She laughs and laughs until she's bent over on her knees and clutching her sides. Arya looks up at her with the most toe-curling glare but it's Arya, her baby sister, so Sansa is used to it. 

"I never thought I'd see the day," Sansa wheezes out between gulps of air. "Let alone you coming to _me_ of all people." 

Arya's glare darkens. "It's not like I've got a lot of options! All my friends are boys! They'd only make it worse. And I am _not_ telling Mum about this." With a dramatic sigh, Arya throws herself back onto the ground, one arm placed over her eyes. "But if I had known you'd be such a bitch, I would've just –"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," Sansa says quickly, as she leans over the bed to look down at her sister. "I was just surprised, that's all. I've never seen you look rattled before. It was… _Anyway_ , tell me about him. Who is he?" 

Arya sighs again, even more dramatically than the last. "Gendry. Gendry sodding Waters." 

"The Hufflepuff beater?" 

"Yeah, that big oaf." 

"Didn't you go on a date with him?" 

Arya bolts upright so fast, the dogs around her startle and eye her warily. "What! Who told you that? We weren't… He was just showing me something!" Sansa's smirk has Arya reaching over and chucking a fallen throw pillow at her head. "Oh, get your mind out of the gutter, Sans. You're supposed to be the proper one." 

Sansa giggles and shrugs innocently. "Yeah, but what happened? Did he walk you back to your common room?" Arya nods, avoiding her eyes. "Did he kiss you good night?"

"He punched me in the shoulder and called me ' _buddy_ '," Arya says, and though there is an angry frown on her face, Sansa hears the hurt there all too clearly. 

Swinging her legs out over the bed, Sansa quickly makes her way to sit by Arya's side, leaning against one of the dogs. "That doesn't mean anything, you know?" She is glad her sister came to her for advice but she is also painfully aware how inexperienced she is with _healthy_ relationships. The vulnerable upturn of her sister's lips however keeps her rooted to the spot, determined to do all she can.

"Boys don't call girls they like buddy, Sansa," Arya says quietly. "And they definitely don't punch girls they like in the shoulder." 

"Jimmy Castor kicked me before he gave me a rose the next day and asked me to be his girlfriend," Sansa reminds her sister with a little nudge. 

Arya rolls her eyes. "You were eight!" 

"Yeah but some boys don't really grow up," Sansa points out. "Look at Theon." Arya makes a face. “Okay, bad example. Look at Robb then. He’s hardly Mister Prince Charming.” 

“You’re really going to compare Robb to _Gendry_?” Arya scoffs. “Robb is… He’s… well, he’s kind of a floozy!”

Sansa chuckles loudly. “He is, isn’t he?” Her sister chuckles with her for a minute before sighing again. Sansa takes Arya by the hand to tug her attention back. “Well, what’s Gendry like? Has he had a girlfriend before?” 

“No, I don’t think so,” Arya says, chewing her bottom lip as she thinks this over. “You know, I’ve never even seen him _talk_ to another girl and he’s not exactly the shy type either.” 

“Then you must be special if he’s always talking to you, Arya,” Sansa says with an encouraging smile, which Arya reciprocates with one of her own, only more hopeful. “You know what you should do, right?”

“What?”

“Invite him to the Christmas party!” 

“Ugh, and subject him to our brothers? And _Dad_? No, thank you.”

“I’ll make sure they behave. C’mon. It’s the perfect opportunity!” 

“How?”

Sansa winks at her sister. “Because you’ll be in a beautiful dress, and the holidays are always so romantic.” When Arya scrunches up her face in disgust, Sansa laughs. “ _And_ there might be a mistletoe or two around the house.” 

“ _What_?” her sister squeaks, a blush reddening her cheeks. She looks so young and innocent now – but that will be a short-lived sight because there is nothing innocent about Arya. She probably usurps both Robb and Theon in mischievous deeds. She’s just smarter about them and rarely gets caught. No, she’s certainly not innocent, but her baby sister being in love is a good look for her all the same. It’s _sweet_. 

“You can know everything you need to in a first kiss, Arya,” Sansa tells her sagely, though she doesn’t know herself if this is true. Her first kiss with Joffrey had been… Well, there weren’t fireworks or even tingling in her fingers, but there had been something fluttery in her stomach. Sansa had thought them butterflies but she now knows they were more like bats. 

“What do you mean? How?” Arya asks, leaning forward in rapt attention. 

Sansa racks her brain for the articles she’s read and tries to formulate a response that might ease her sister’s mind. “Well, you see, the way a boy kisses says a lot about them,” she says slowly. “If they’re gentle and slow, they’re sensitive guys. If they’re demanding and use tongue right away, they’re selfish guys. It’s all there in the first kiss.”

“Oh… I see. I… How will I know if he likes me back?” 

“Arya,” she says, placing a comforting hand on her sister’s shoulder. “A kiss is special. It tells the two people right away if there’s any chemistry there, and if you two have it, you’ll just know.” 

Arya nods, and in an act so uncharacteristic for her little sister, she leans forward and places a quick kiss to Sansa’s cheek. “Thank you, Sans. _Thank you_.” Without another word, her sister jumps to her feet and leaves the room. All the dogs save for Lady get up and follow her out. 

Sansa wraps her arms around her dog’s neck tightly, turning her head into her fur. At least someone should find romance this holiday season. 

\----

**Jon:**

“Can I stay here with you, Jon?”

“Rickon, you have your own room.” 

“I know but this is way cooler!” 

“You’re staying in the house unless you want Mum to flip.”

There is a grunt and then feet stomping against the wooden floorboards before the door to the guest house opens and closes behind the youngest Stark. Robb snorts with amusement as he props his feet up on a low stool. Jon sits opposite him on a similar wooden chair that he knows Nedd Stark built a long time ago with his brother Brandon. 

“It’s not so bad here.” 

“Yeah, now that you’ve got a warming charm around the place, it’s alright.” Robb agrees. “So you really think there’s a creature scaring the dogs away?”

“I don’t know,” Jon shrugs. “But I took Ghost on a walk just now and he couldn’t stop growling at the edge of the woods. Something’s definitely out there.” 

“ _Wicked_ ,” Robb says with a smile that Jon knows far too well. 

“No, Robb.” 

“What?” his best friend pouts. “I haven’t even said anything.” 

“You’re thinking about going in there and I say no.” The last thing Jon needs is to go running blindly into the woods surrounding Stark manor after Robb when there’s some kind of creature loose out there. “So don’t even bother.” 

Robb frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. “Where’s your sense of adventure, Snow?” When Jon doesn’t reply, his friend snorts. “Fine. Well, now you’re settled, I’m off.” He stands up, smoothing his jeans down. When his blue eyes return back to Jon, they’re narrowed and distant again. “Don’t think me helping you move in here is me forgiving you. I’m not even close to that yet.” 

“I know.” 

“Good.”

The door clicks shut after Robb. The sigh that escapes Jon’s lips fill up the room and suddenly the small guest house feels too large for just him. It’s not though. The one room, one bathroom house is a cosy fit with a small round breakfast table on one end and a double bed on the other. The horrible thing about losing his only family – the only other occupant of the modest cottage down the winding road from the Stark manor – is that _anywhere_ can be lonely. No matter how Catelyn Stark tries to help, the loneliness will be a constant companion for Jon this holiday. It might have been easier to manage at Hogwarts – with so much to do and so much going on, loneliness hadn’t really been an option – but out here in a reality his mum used to occupy, her absence is felt more prominently than Jon knew what to do with. Last time he had felt this way, he ran away to Scotland to become a Ranger; he isn’t going to run this time but he’s also not sure how to handle it. Jon has never been the most rational when his emotions are involved. No matter how hard he tries to be logical about his decisions, thinking them through piece by piece, there is still a part of him that reacts with reckless abandon. It’s probably why he’s a Gryffindor and not a Ravenclaw. 

The thought of the blue and bronze house has his mind turning in a different direction. Images of a fiery-haired girl flash in his mind’s eye, and in spite of the dark path his mind had only moments ago wandered down, Jon smiles. 

She looked _happy_ today. With her knees pressed into the grass, her fingernails coated in dirt, Jon had never seen Sansa look so free in so long. It’s a nice look on her, he thinks. But then she looks nice most of the time. She’s certainly not an awkward, gangly little girl anymore. In fact, she’s quite possibly one of the most beautiful… 

Scratching at Jon’s door has him scrambling up from his bed. Ghost jerks up from the foot of the bed too, his hair standing up on end, as he faces the door of the guest house. A low growl emits from the white wolf-dog. There’s a responding snarl from the other side before the scratching abruptly stops and then nothing. 

Jon’s wand is in hand when he walks to the window, peeling back the curtains. Outside, the nearing full moon illuminates most of the grounds for Jon but there is nothing there. The woods that runs along the perimeters of the Stark property is eerily silent too. Whatever this thing is, it’s big enough and dangerous enough to scare off the other animals. 

This isn’t good. 

The next morning Jon is sitting in Ned Stark’s study with Ghost by his side. The older man is frowning pensively as he runs a hand over his beard. Worry lines crease his forehead. 

“What do you think it could be?” 

“I don’t know, sir,” Jon admits with an equally pensive frown. “But I think for the time being, the dogs should be kept indoors. And definitely on leads when they’re taken on walks.” 

Ned nods in agreement. “Yes, that is probably wise.” His eyes flash to Jon’s, ceasing their scrutiny of whatever it is behind Jon’s head. “Is it safe for us?” 

“I can’t tell you but I do believe it’s nocturnal,” Jon tells him. “So long as we avoid the grounds at night then I think everyone will be okay. It doesn’t seem determined to get into the house.” At least it hadn’t seemed that way last night. The scratching sounded more curious than predatory. 

“Hmm,” Ned nods again before he heaves a great big sigh. “Either way, I’ll place more wards around the house. You should probably move in here too to be safe, Jon.”

“No, sir, that’s okay,” Jon says, shaking his head resolutely. “It’ll be easier for me to figure out what it is if I’m out in the guest house, and I can use magic now. I’ll be okay.” 

Ned looks unconvinced but he knows Jon well enough not to try to dissuade him. He is too much like his mum in that way. He does fix Jon with a stern look. “The moment this becomes too dangerous, Jon, you’re moving into the big house and we’re calling the Beast Handlers, you understand?” 

“Yes, sir, I do.” 

Satisfied, Ned dismisses Jon, and he exits the study with Ghost at his heels. He makes it to end of the corridor when Bran comes running after him. 

“Jon! Wait!” 

He turns and peers at the younger boy. Bran pants as he reaches Jon, with one hand on his knee to catch his breath. 

“I’ve been looking for you _everywhere_!” 

“What’s going on?”

“This came for you just now,” Bran says, and hands him a white envelope with intricate gold detailing along the edges. A house seal is stamped in gold wax on the front. It’s… 

“What’s a Targaryen owling you for anyways?” 


	9. Piscis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man oh man, I've had this written for awhile except for the last few paragraphs of this chapter. I just didn't know how to end it but here we go!
> 
> Also, if you guys haven't figured it out yet, I am 100% not going to finish this story within 11 chapters. I think it'll be more along the lines of 15. I'm not going to change the number just yet but I just wanted to let you guys know there's still quite a bit of story left to tell. 
> 
> One more thing, thank you x100000000000 for reading and staying with me through all these months! You guys have been so patient and so kind to me. I can't show my appreciation enough! <3

“Jon?”

Bran’s questioning barely registers in Jon’s ears. He’s too busy staring at the beautiful stationery in his hands. When his fath – when _Rhaegar_ would write to him, it’d be on standard official stationery. The seal would be nondescript. Nothing about it would have given away who he is. Jon doesn’t know if it’s for the purpose of sparing Jon the need to explain to people who his biological father is or if it’s to save Rhaegar’s own hide in case of a scandal. Jon heavily suspects the latter, but whatever reason, he has always been thankful of that fact. He doesn’t need people prying into his private life. He doesn’t even _want_ anything to do with the Targaryens. The more distance the better. So it begs the question now, who exactly is writing to him? It’s certainly not Rhaegar. Could it be Elia Targaryen?

“Jon!” 

His eyes snap up to Bran’s. They are wide with curiosity but also worry. He is at once thankful it’s the middle Stark boy to find this letter. Bran has always been much like his eldest sister. Both of them are perceptive and know when to push and when to pull back. It’s probably the Ravenclaw in them. They’re smart. 

“It’s… I applied for an internship,” Jon lies quickly. “It’s probably a response.” 

“With the Targaryens?” Bran asks, and he is rightfully disbelieving. “I didn’t know you were into politics.” 

“It’s just an option,” Jon tells him. “Anyway, I should… I’ll just go read this.”

Before Bran can ask him about the contents of the letter, Jon quickly departs. He races down the corridors to the kitchen where he then slips out the backdoor towards the guest house. A wide range of emotions stir in his veins – a mixture of bewilderment, curiosity, anger, exasperation and intrigue. They each fight for dominance and the ensuing battle of his emotions make Jon feel a little queasy. Once he has the door to the guest house locked behind him, he climbs onto his bed and pats for Ghost to join him. The white dog immediately places his head in Jon’s lap as if he senses the turmoil in his owner. 

Without further haste, Jon rips open the envelope and picks up the accompanying letter, also written on expensive parchment. Although he could hardly call it parchment, it’s more sturdy than what he normally uses. It feels like it’s been woven in with cloth. 

_Dear Jon,_

_I hope you appreciate the effort it took to write you this letter. Father is extremely guarded with his study. I had to bribe a house elf to let me in! But you’ll find that I am nothing if not tenacious, and I do hope you’ll find out more about me as I will about you, little brother._

_Yes, hello Jon, my name is Rhaenys, your sister. It is really a pleasure to meet you. I have always wanted a brother. I mean Aegon doesn’t count. He’s a pain in the arse, so I do hope you’re much more fun than he is. It would be such a shame if you were as much of a bore as he is._

_Now, I know you must hate Father. The lack of letters surely prove as much, and I can’t quite blame you for the animosity. He is not an affectionate man. He has never been but he does care. In his way. Nevertheless, I am not writing to persuade you to meet with him. If you do not want to, who am I to force you? I’m merely asking you give_ me _a chance. We are family, Jon. Half-sibling or not, I am loyal to my family and I would very much like to get to know you. I promise there is no ulterior motive._

_If you choose to accept, write me back in the morning. My owl Aerys will be back to receive your reply. If you choose to decline, just give him a treat and he’ll be on his way._

_But please sleep on it._

_Faithfully,_

_Rhaenys T._

The air seems to have been sucked right out of him because for the next few seconds after reading the letter, Jon is panting as if he had just run a marathon. No matter how much oxygen he tries to gulp in, nothing is enough for his racing heart. 

What is Rhaenys doing writing to him? Why does she even care? Is she being sincere or is this a trap? Why would she possibly want to meet _him_? He’s nobody. He’s a Snow. The bastard child of Lyanna Snow and Rhaegar Targaryen. The product of a long forgotten affair. 

No, no, this is just too much. Jon doesn’t need this right now. Not during the holidays. He doesn’t.

Ghost whines in his lap. He tilts his head so his red eyes are looking straight up at Jon, but his owner doesn’t notice. 

Jon moves abruptly, causing Ghost’s head to fall onto the bed. He starts to pace the length of the one room guest house. He’s not sure what to do – he’s not even sure what to make of the letter – and his confusion is only infuriating him more and more. He shouldn’t be this conflicted over the Targaryens. Jon doesn’t want to feel _anything_ for them. They never cared about him so why should he care about _them_? But a niggling voice at the back of his mind says that how could they care if they didn’t know? Isn’t Rhaenys’ letter proof that if they had they would’ve tried to get to know him? 

The doorknob to the guest house rattles him literally out of his pacing, and he stands there staring at the offending object. A frustrated sigh sounds from the other side.

“Jon? Are you in there?” 

_Sansa_.

He walks swiftly to let her in and is instantly struck dumb by the sight of her. With the sun at her back, Sansa looks startlingly ephemeral – her red hair more fiery than he’s ever seen it and her pale skin practically glowing in the light of the morning. “Um… come in,” he murmurs on auto-response, and he remembers just in time to step back so she can get past him. Sansa arches a brow at his peculiar behaviour but doesn’t say a word, _thankfully_. He’s not sure how to explain it anyways. 

“Thanks,” she says once she’s standing in the centre of the house. “It’s cosy. I haven’t been here in ages. Arya and I used to come and hide from Robb when we were younger. I guess Mum redecorated, huh?” She’s of course referring to the artistic landscape drawings of Scotland hanging on the walls. It is certainly not the doing of her husband. If it was up to Ned Stark, Jon suspects there’d be nothing in here at all but the bare minimum. 

“Yeah,” Jon says quietly – _absentmindedly_. “It’s nice.” 

“Hey, are you okay?” she asks, those pale summer blue eyes studying him. 

Jon swallows nervously, feeling suddenly aware they’re alone in a bedroom, and Merlin, _what_ is he doing? He needs to get a grip. “Fine, yeah. Just… I’m fine.” 

Sansa frowns, and she takes several steps forward so she’s standing right in front of him. “ _Jon_ ,” she says. It’s simultaneously a threat and a murmur of compassionate concern.

“What are you doing here, Sans?” he asks, avoiding altogether the threat and the probing question in her voice.

“Dad says you had a run-in with the creature last night,” Sansa says slowly. He knows just by the slight purse of her lips that she’s annoyed but she doesn’t push it. “I just wanted to check on you, that’s all.” 

“It’s… Hopefully it’ll make an appearance again tonight.”

“Are you going to stay up all night to wait for it?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Um…” Sansa bites her lip and his eyes instantly flicker to them. He has the distant wonder what her lips would taste like against his own and suddenly Jon is stepping two, three steps away from Sansa. He can’t think that! What is he even doing? Not only is she _Sansa Stark_ , baby sister to his best friend, but he also has a girlfriend. 

“Jon,” she calls again and now her small hand is resting firmly on his forearm. “What is going on with you?” 

“Nothing,” he answers too quickly, and this only makes the crease between Sansa’s brows deepen. Jon sighs and cards his fingers through his hair. “Sorry, I’m just on edge because of whatever’s out there.” 

“Oh,” Sansa says with a nod. “Yeah, so you know if you need any company tonight… I mean only if you need any, I’d be happy to stay up with you. I’d just feel better if you weren’t alone.”

“I’m not. I have Ghost.” 

Sansa glances at the dog still lying on his bed and smiles, though it doesn’t reach her eyes and Jon doesn’t know why that is. “Right. Of course… Mum wants to go shopping for the party so I’ll just leave you alone then.” She walks past him, the smell of magnolias drifting into the air, and reaches for the doorknob. Before she can fully turn it, Jon wraps one hand around her wrist to pull her back towards him. 

“But I wouldn’t mind more company. That is if you want.” 

Then _there_ – she smiles again and this time her eyes brighten just that touch more, and he loses himself in them for a second, thinking he’d do anything to make her smile like this everyday. 

“Okay,” Sansa says. “I’ll bring snacks.”

With a last lingering look, Sansa exits the guest house and Jon lets out a breath he didn’t know he’s been holding. What had he been thinking about before she arrived? 

\-----

**Sansa:**

Frantic isn’t a word strong enough to describe Catelyn Stark right now. She’s managed to move past _frantic_ into hysterical banshee territory, and Sansa is all too aware of how her inability to concentrate right now is grating on her nerves. But it’s hardly her fault. She’s happy and she wants to bask in that happiness for a little while. Merlin knows the universe has a way of ripping happy things away from her, so she doesn’t feel too guilty for it. 

So instead of listening to her mum prattle on about cutlery or place napkins or whatever it is that has her so anxious, Sansa is planning out what she’ll bring to her sleepover with Jon tonight.

Abruptly, she stops walking.

 _Sleepover?_

A hot flush warms her cheeks and she resolutely shakes her head. This is not a sleepover. It’s a stake-out where they’ll be staying up all night to catch a terrifying beast. What on earth has compelled her to think that this very serious evening will be spent in some kind of bizarre slumber party with Jon? It’s absurd, and she _needs_ to get the idea out of her head before she accidentally lets it slip out loud to someone else. 

“Sansa?” 

She glances up from staring at her feet. “Oh, right. Sorry, Mum.” She rushes up to walk beside her mum again and desperately tries to listen this time. 

“If Robb had it his way, he’d invite the entire seventh year class,” her mum says, sounding exasperated. “But are _you_ sure you only want to invite one person?” 

“Yes, Mum,” Sansa answers her – _again_. “I’m not very close to the other girls.”

“Are they mean to you, sweetheart? You know what I told you about girls,” her mum begins to say, but Sansa cuts her off instantly with a shake of her head. “Alright, if you’re sure. So just Jeyne then?” 

“Yup, just Jeyne.”

It’ll be good to see her best friend again. It’s only been two days but it feels like a lifetime already. There’s no one else Sansa can talk to about any and everything with. Although she knows she’s been distant in recent months, and although she knows how that must frustrate her best friend, Jeyne really is her closest confidante. They can go from talking about something as silly as the right kind of manicure to attract a boy to their post-Hogwarts fears. It kills her now to keep something so big from Jeyne, but Sansa isn’t ready to talk about it. The only reason Jon knows is because he found them. The only reason Robb knows is because Jon told him. If Sansa had it her way, no one would know. No one would ever have to learn of her shame and humiliation; her _weakness_ when it came to Joffrey. 

This is what she tells herself anyways. It’s the only way she can sleep at night knowing she’s keeping Jeyne at a distance. 

“Mum…” 

Her mum barely looks up from the bouquet of flowers she’s studying intently as if it were her final year NEWTs exams, but she murmurs a, “yeah, sweetheart?” 

It’s a good thing her mum doesn’t pay her any attention because her face is as red as her hair and she is wringing her hands tightly. “Did you know Dad was the one when you first kissed him?” 

_That_ has her attention now. “What?” her mum asks, straightening up so she can look at Sansa. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean… when you first kissed him, did you know you loved him then?” 

“Well,” her mum contemplates this with a small frown. “I don’t think I loved him till much later but you know your father, he’s very northern, and northern men are very emotionally guarded at first.” 

“Right,” Sansa nods, understanding this all too well; after all, she knows plenty of northern men. 

“But I did feel something,” her mum elaborates. “It wasn’t love but it was… _thrilling_.”

“Thrilling?”

“Yes,” her mum says. “An indescribable feeling, like flying so fast you think you might be sick.”

“That doesn’t sound pleasant, Mum.” 

“No, I suppose it doesn’t,” her mum laughs. “But it is, Sansa.” She shakes away whatever memory she’s been reliving and smiles at her. “Why do you ask?” 

“I…” She doesn’t really know why she asked but it somehow felt imperative to know. “I never felt that with Joffrey.” 

“You won’t fall in love with every boy you date,” her mum tells her with a gentle hand to her shoulder. “If you did, falling in love wouldn’t be as special as it is.”

“I guess,” she shrugs. “Mum, do you think you can –”

“Catelyn, Sansa!” 

Sansa’s blood runs cold. All the happiness she had felt earlier this day suddenly disappears like water evaporating into the air. In its place is a frigid dread, an erratic need to flee before her fragile sense of self can deteriorate anymore, but Sansa stays where she is. As she always has. As she always will. 

“Cersei,” her mum greets with measured politeness. “What a pleasant surprise.” 

“Most certainly,” the blonde woman replies, as she glances sweetly at Sansa. “What brings you to London? It’s quite out of the way from your little home, isn’t it?” 

The implication behind her words are clear enough, and Sansa fists her hands in an attempt to calm down. She has always been fiercely protective of her loved ones and she cannot tolerate Cersei looking down on the Starks. Her? Fine. But not her family; not her home. They may not have the prestige of London’s political elites but the people under her dad’s leadership actually respect him. That’s more than Sansa can say about the Lannisters and the Baratheons. 

But her mum speaks before Sansa has formulated a scathing response. 

“Ah yes, it is rather, but that is the price one pays for hosting a Christmas party for the Ministry. Do tell me you are still coming, Cersei? I won’t hear of you and Robert not attending.”

Sansa bites down hard on her bottom lip to stifle her laughter. Where she would have told Cersei to go stuff a turkey up her arse (in a very unladylike manner), her mum – a true daughter of the Tully’s – takes more of a swing at Cersei than if she had actually physically thrown a punch. Everyone knows of Robert’s latest defeat in securing an advisorial seat to the Minister of Magic. Being invited to a Ministry party is like being invited to an ex-lover’s engagement party. It’s humiliating, but to refuse an invitation is even _more_ humiliating. 

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Catelyn,” she says. Her tone is as syrupy sweet as it always is, but the way her eyes harden is much too like her son and Sansa recognises the fury there straight away. It makes her flinch. Though she is not Joffrey, Sansa thinks she is probably more dangerous. 

“Wonderful!” her mum beams, and then places a hand on Sansa’s back, pushing her towards the door. “Well, I’ll see you at the party. Happy holidays, Cersei.”

“You too, Catelyn,” Cersei returns with a smile, before directing it at Sansa. “Joffrey sends his love, little dove. He can’t wait to see you.”

Sansa’s heart picks up its pace. She is thankfully saved by her mum’s insistent pushing to respond. It’s only when they are a safe distance away from the florist does her mum say anything at all. 

“Are you back together with Joffrey?” 

“No, Mum,” she nearly cries out. “We’re… friends.” 

“I see,” her mum nods. “Be careful with that one, Sansa.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, terrified for a second that Robb might’ve told her, but the answering smile to her words has her thinking differently. 

“Nothing, sweetheart. C’mon. We need to go buy more place napkins!” 

When Sansa offered to accompany her mum into London for supplies, she hadn’t expected it to take _all day_ , but by the time they return to Stark Manor, the sun has already set, leaving behind a murky darkness to envelop the world around her. Winter’s frost lingers in the air, and wisps of white expel from her lips as she breathes in the sharp, stinging cold. 

Due to the protective wards and the Starks’ lack of a working fireplace, they’ve had to apparate outside the manor, and Sansa is none-too-happy about it. She’s bone-weary and desperate for a nice hot bath, but the walk up the gravelled path to the manor is long and only adds to her fatigue. The large gothic house looms taller and taller as they near. It’s a foreboding place with sharp finials jutting into the sky. Two stone wolves stand guard on either side of the main double-doors, with raised paws and sharp fangs on display. It used to feel ostentatious to Sansa but since returning home, she finds comfort in their presence, as if they could protect her from her demons. She knows this might sound absurd to anyone else but for the Starks, the wolves have been a longstanding companion of the family. 

“The Tully’s house sigil has a fish, right?” 

“Yes, sweetheart, that’s right.” 

“I guess it was a big switch to come to a house of wolves, huh?” 

Her mum looks are her curiously, before shaking her head and laughing. “I suppose it was. But I was more surprised that your father took it so _literally_.” 

As if in answer to her mum, several large howls could be heard from inside the house. Sansa laughs. “Yeah, Dad _is_ a bit wolf-obsessed.” 

Sansa fingers the edges of her capacious bag, which is filled to its brim of all the shopping they did today, and glances back over her shoulder. It’s not as if she could actually see the cottage from here but she can sense it, can vividly recall the long, winding walk to its inconspicuous location, to the leafy vines that grow along the eggshell white walls. “Do… Do the Snows have a house sigil?” 

They are at the front door now and her mum stops just as her fingers close on the brass handle. “No, I don’t believe they do,” her mum says. “Only old pureblood families have house sigils these days. The Snows – as far as I’m aware don’t have the same kind of history.” 

“But Lyanna was a pureblood, wasn’t she?” 

“Yes,” her mum says with a tight-lipped frown. There was no love lost between the two women, even now. “But the Snows were never a noble family. They pledged their allegiance to the Starks a long time ago, so by doing so, they never created a house sigil for themselves.” 

Sansa nods, understanding this as well as she understood History of Magic, which is not at all. “So Jon is the last Snow?” 

“Unfortunately,” her mum says, smiling, but there is sadness in her eyes. “But he has us. We’re his family too.”

“I know.”

After helping her mum with the shopping, Sansa races up to her bedroom. She forgoes a hot bath and jumps straight into the shower, letting the water soothe away the aches and groans in her muscles. She doesn’t take nearly as much time as she normally does. The longer she spends here the less time she’ll have with Jon, so once her skin is pink with heat, she turns the shower off and rushes through her nightly routine. It is just after nine when she walks across the grounds, a heap of snacks in her arms and a duvet stuffed into her capacious bag. The cold air is biting against her exposed legs but there is something oddly thrilling about the cold. It’s a prickly sense of being alive. 

Reaching the guest house, Sansa knocks quietly and waits. There’s a bark from inside then the sound of a chair moving. When Jon pulls the door open, the light inside illuminates his upper body in a way that has Sansa gawking shamelessly. She has never seen him without a shirt on before, at least not since they were very young; the Starks didn’t take many beach-side vacations and most of the time Jon would be with his mum anyways. Needless to say, Sansa is a little struck dumb by how much he’s grown out over the years. 

“Sansa,” he says her name in a breath. “I didn’t think you were coming anymore.” 

Sansa swallows and looks up to his grey eyes – her cheeks burning from her less-than-subtle staring. “I… Mum made me go shopping with her.” 

Jon nods, grabbing something from behind the door, and steps back so she can walk through. As she enters the guest house, Sansa sees with dismay that what he grabbed from behind the door was a t-shirt. She doesn’t know why she feels so disappointed but she does, and so she walks further into the house to greet Ghost in an attempt to hide it. He doesn’t need to know her suddenly very physical reaction to his presence. In fact, she doesn’t even want to know herself. It’s new and terrifying; and this is _Jon_. 

“What’s all that?” Jon asks, leaning against the door after closing it shut. He has his arms crossed over his chest as he gestures with a jerk of his head towards her arm-full of snacks. 

Sansa drops it on the bed around Ghost, who sniffs excitedly at the assortment of biscuits and crisps. She climbs up after her snacks and sits down in the centre of the bed with her legs outstretched before her. “Well, stake-outs are long, right? I thought we’d need sustenance.” 

Amusement flitters across Jon’s face. “So you’re planning to stay here all night?” 

Something about the way Jon says that has Sansa’s heart fluttering wildly in her chest. She blushes again and turns away to cup Ghost’s face in her hands. She kisses the wolf-dog on the snout and continues to pet his head just so she can avoid looking at Jon. “Maybe… If you don’t bore me too much.” 

“Do you find me boring, Sansa?” he asks, and Sansa turns abruptly when she realises he’s not by the door any longer. Instead, Jon is leaning forward, hands on either side of her legs. Although he isn’t even touching her, she thinks he might as well be. 

Sansa tries for a shrug and an awkward chuckle. “So… um, what do we do now?” 

He opens his mouth to say something but then thinking better of it, shuts it quickly. After a second, he stands up and finally says with a sigh, “we wait.” 


	10. Clearing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow. i never thought this would be so late. sorry!! <3 i hope you guys are still interested in this fic. i can't believe it's taking so long to finish but finish it i shall!! 
> 
> also, i really really did not see this coming. i was hoping for a happier outcome but clearly i dont write happy well in multi-chapter fics lmao. if you want fluff, feel free to venture to my one shots. 
> 
> anyway, i do hope you enjoy it!!! thank you for sticking around if you're still here! <3

**Jon:**

“So… um, what do we do now?” 

Something warm settles over him. Jon wants to tell her exactly what they should be doing but then the hesitant expression on her face stills him completely. This is so wrong, he thinks with abrupt clarity. She’s still _Sansa_ and he still has a girlfriend. Even if Ygritte is out of the picture, even if there isn’t a horde of Starks only a stone’s throw away, Jon is clearly making her uncomfortable. She doesn’t want him and he’d be dumber than Theon to try anything. 

He stands up, rubbing a weary hand over his face, and sighs. “We wait.” 

He hears her shuffling but he’s already moving to the chair by the window. The cottage is small enough that her presence fills up every corner in a way that is as suffocating as it is exhilarating but Jon puts as much distance as he can between them. He likes Ygritte; he cares deeply about her. She’s everything he needs right now. She’s strong and pushes him when he needs to be pushed. He likes her. He does. 

Jon repeats this like a mantra in his head, unaware that Sansa is speaking, until she’s standing right in front of him, a tentative touch to his shoulder. He startles and scrapes the chair back as if she had just burnt him. The flash of hurt in her clear blue eyes nearly unravels his resolve to stay away but he remains steadfast where he is. 

“Jon, are you okay?” Sansa asks. Her hands are by her side now, wringing together, and it’s distracting because he wants to comfort her, but he doesn’t know if he should. This is absolutely beyond the realm of what Jon is used to. 

“I’m fine,” Jon eventually says as he tears his eyes away from her hands to her face. Her cheeks and nose are pink from the cold still, and it’s more than glaringly obvious how beautiful she is. He’s always known though, _distantly_ , in the back of his mind. It has always been fact, like how he knows the sky is blue and the grass is green. It’s always been _there_ , yet lately, it’s become something that stuns him into quiet silence, something akin to reverence. She’s become less of a fact and more of a miracle, like a solstice. 

“You don’t look fine,” she says, and now her lips are pouting at him as her brows furrow. “What’s going on with you?” 

There is no way in hell he’s telling her what’s bothering him. Even he doesn’t really know exactly what that is, only that she’s very much in the centre of it all. She’d take it the wrong way. And Merlin if she knew just how dark and primal his thoughts had been only minutes before, she’d run so far away from him. Jon couldn’t let that happen. He needs her. This is equally as stupid as wanting her but he’d rather she be his friend than to scare her off completely, and this is better anyways. Wanting her is stupid; it’s merely hormones. 

“I… I got a letter from my half-sister today,” Jon blurts out without thinking, desperate to fill the silence and redirect her scrutinising gaze away. This isn’t quite what he had meant to say but as soon as the words are out, he feels lighter. Somehow he knows he should tell her everything. 

“My father is...” 

Jon begins from the top, from the first time he found out he’s a Targaryen to the latest letter he received from Rhaenys. To her credit, Sansa doesn’t say a word throughout his whole story. She just returns to sit on the bed, arms curled around Ghost, and listens. She doesn’t ask stupid questions like Robb did or try to morally guilt him into something he doesn’t want to do like Sam. She just sits and listens, and when Jon is done, she stands up and walks forward. Her arms go around his shoulders and she holds him tightly. Jon probably should push her away – it’s the right thing to do – but somehow reliving everything that had happened made him more weary than before and he lets his arms wrap around her waist. He leans his head into her stomach, pressing his forehead against her and sighs. 

They stay like this for some time, with Sansa stroking his hair while he has his face pressed against her, his thumbs rubbing absently on the small of her back. It’s comforting, and _wrong_ , but Jon can’t bring himself to care right now. 

“I can go with you,” Sansa says after a long silence. 

The words don’t really compute with him and he looks up, flummoxed. Sansa laughs softly, the sound reverberating through her body. He leans back so his hands are pulled to rest idly on her hips. He doesn’t want to think about how easily they fit there and focus instead on her bemused smile. 

“To meet your sister, Jon. I can go with you.” 

“You’d do that?” Jon asks, a note of doubt in his voice that she instantly catches because her eyes soften and her fingers start playing with his hair. 

“Of course I would,” Sansa says, rolling her eyes. “You need support. I’m your support.”

Jon smirks a little. “Does that make us teammates?” 

A crease appears between her brows as it dawns on her to what he’s referring to and she rolls her eyes. “You can’t help bringing that up, can you?” Sansa says, but although she’s frowning, he sees the light twinkle in her eyes. “I told you I didn’t mean to throw the broomstick at you.” 

“Aye, ‘course you didn’t,” Jon chuckles softly. 

Sansa retracts her hands from around his neck so she can punch his shoulder but he catches her wrist easily. The eldest Stark girl is a lot of things – smart, compassionate, and loyal being some of his favourite traits – but her tells are obvious. He saw her tiny fist coming a mile away. 

“ _Jon_ ,” she warns but there’s still that glint in her eyes so he knows he hasn’t crossed a line yet. “Do you want another broken nose?” 

“So you _did_ do it on purpose?” 

She takes a step forward. It’s a precarious position if Jon is in the right mind to notice it – her standing there between his legs, his hand around her wrist, their faces angled towards each other, but Jon _doesn’t_ notice it. He only notices her, the laughter trying to break through her pursed lips, the way her blue eyes seem lighter, softer than it has in a long time, and the soft underside of her wrist underneath his thumb. 

“You, Jon Snow,” she says with a faint smirk, “were an annoying prick and rightly deserved it.” 

“You gave me a scar!” Jon exclaims. He tries to sound affronted but the memory of an angry twelve-year-old Sansa is too funny for him to play the part with any conviction. He instead just shakes his head at her. 

“I did?” Sansa’s jaw slackens and she peers closely at him. “Where?” 

With his free hand, Jon taps the bridge of his nose where there is indeed a small white line from when the broomstick hit his face all those years ago. Sansa gasps as soon as she sees the scar. The hand he’s gripping gently moves forward to palm his cheek, her thumb rubbing over the small scar. “I’m so sorry, Jon,” she says, distressed. “I didn’t realise… I was just so…” 

Jon releases her wrist and covers her hand with his. He laughs quietly. “Sansa, it’s okay. I’ve had worse.” 

This doesn’t seem to ease her horror any less because she just makes a frustrated noise. “That doesn’t make it better,” she murmurs. “I shouldn’t have done that anyways.” Sansa closes the distance between them and kisses his nose just above the scar. The feel of her lips, brief as it was, takes Jon’s breath away, and he is suddenly, so painfully aware of how close she is right now. Somehow as they were talking, they had been leaning further and further into each other, and now Sansa is cradled in between his legs, one hand on his cheek and one on his shoulder. He’s not exactly innocent in this predicament either. His hand is still placed against hers while the other is a breath away from her bare thigh. His fingers twitch to touch her, to run his hand up her leg, see if she is as smooth and soft as she looks, and Jon knows this is wrong, everything about this is wrong, but he can’t look away. She’s _Sansa_. 

“Jon?” 

He doesn’t know what to say and he’s saved from ever having to think on that because Ghost is now barking loudly, jumping down from the bed and running to the door. 

_Shit, shit, shit…_

\----

**Sansa:**

It’s as if a bucket of cold water was thrown over them, dousing all of the fire that had previously been dancing between Jon and Sansa. After he scrapes the chair back in alarm, Sansa remains standing, rooted to the spot, hand hovering in the air. She tries to tell herself this is for the best because she doesn’t want anything to happen between them anyway. 

She _doesn’t_. 

Not even when his head pressed into her stomach, causing tiny eruptions of fireworks to zip up her spine, nor when he wrapped his large hand around her wrist, holding her in place with that mischievous tilt of his lips that she loves so much. Merlin, and not even when he was looking at her like she was _it_. 

No, she doesn’t want this. She doesn’t – _can’t_ want him. 

But when Jon’s eyes stay fixed on hers, his mouth opening to say something, Sansa cuts him off because although she knows this is for the best, she can’t bear the rejection either. 

“Do you have your wand?” 

He inclines his head in confusion and her heart _clenches_ at the sight. “What?” he asks, that perplexed expression still there. 

“To find the creature,” Sansa points out, gesturing towards the door where Ghost is still barking incessantly. She grabs her jumper from the bed and tugs it on. “C’mon. Let’s go find it.” 

It’s a stupid idea to go barging into the night after a creature that could potentially kill her without anything but Ghost and Jon for protection, but her heart is racing so fast in her chest she doesn’t know how she’s even breathing. Sansa is stupid to let herself get involved with Jon like this, stupid to think that maybe for a split second there could be _something_ , because there never could be. By the alarm and horror on his face, it’s clear the last thing he wants is to be with her. There’s a reason his girlfriend is Ygritte and not her. 

Angry and bitter and humiliated, Sansa yanks open the door and walks out into the night with Ghost at her heels. Jon is shouting from behind her but she’s not hearing him. The farther away she gets the better right now. His proximity clouds her mind too quickly and too wholly for Sansa to think clearly, and Merlin, she needs some clarity right now. 

Ghost darts ahead, running to the edge of the forest that borders the Stark estate, and turns to see if his humans are following. Sansa races up towards the dog and he bounds forward again. She’s just about to run off after him when a firm grip around her wrist pulls her back. This time, the grip is strong and bruising on her pale skin. She stumbles back into his chest and Jon quickly rights her with his other hand.

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?” 

Sansa flinches. He’s never raised his voice to her before, not even when she had hated him all those years ago, and she finds that it only makes the swirling anger rise up inside her. “Finding the creature,” she snaps back. “Isn’t that the whole point of tonight?” She doesn’t mean to add a double meaning to her words but it’s there, hidden underneath the clipped words. 

“Sans, I –” 

Ghost howls, and Sansa breaks Jon’s grip to run towards where she heard the dog. She is ashamed to admit that only half of her is worried about Ghost; the other half is just desperate to get away from Jon and that pleading look in his eyes. Because she gets it, she wants to tell him. She does. He has a girlfriend he loves and whatever it was that had played between them earlier was a momentary lapse in his judgement. She was a mistake. 

The forest is dark, damp from the light fog, and branches whip against her bare arms and legs as she rushes toward the howling. The light of the moon above them only manages to break through the canopy of leaves in sparse intervals and Sansa has a hard time finding her footing as she runs. She trips and stumbles more times than she would if it was daytime but the alternative is to stop and think about how stupid she’s being right now. 

Reaching a clearing, Sansa stops and places her hands on her knees. She pants for a good minute before she exhales a low sigh of relief. “Ghost,” she says, smiling at the dog, who is sniffing the air curiously. “You scared me. Don’t run off like that again, okay?” He tilts his head towards Sansa and pads over. 

“Are you out of your bloody mind?” 

Sansa turns when Jon reaches the clearing. The anger in his face riles up her own and she presses her hands onto her hips, ignoring the memory of his touch on her only minutes earlier. “What are you talking about?”

“Running into the forest in the middle of the night? Never mind that there’s a bloody creature loose out here, Sans,” Jon practically growls at her as he takes a step forward. “You could have been hurt!” 

“I’m _fine_ ,” she says firmly, eyes narrowed at him. The rational part of her mind is telling her to step away, to think about this because Jon is right, but Sansa is more irrational than rational on the best of days and she’s just furious. With him. With herself. With _everything_. “I needed to make sure Ghost was alright.” 

“Then you shouldn’t have barged out of the cottage like that!” Jon shouts at her. “You could have gotten him killed. You could’ve gotten _yourself_ killed. What were you thinking!” 

“I thought we were here to find the creature,” Sansa retorts just as furious as him. “Wasn’t that what we were supposed to do tonight?” 

“Oh so you thought it was a good idea to just run off after the thing?” 

“There hadn’t been any reports of deaths or injuries nearby in months so you know what, Jon, I think we’re fine.” 

Jon throws his hands up in the air and stalks forward. “That,” he says, getting angrier and angrier by the second. “Means nothing. You put all our lives at risk by being careless and reckless. If you have a death wish, Sansa, don’t drag us all with you!” 

It’s like she’s been slapped. All the air rushes out of her and her eyes sting painfully, threatening to undo her right there in front of him. Somehow, _somehow_ , Sansa manages to control herself enough to reply to him. “Right,” she nods, voice coming out calmer than she expected it to. “Because I’m broken, right?” 

Jon’s eyes widen and he shakes his head, opening his mouth to say more, but Sansa cuts him off before he can. 

“Don’t, Jon,” she tells him. “I get it. I’m sorry for… dragging you down with me. I’ll try not to involve you in my life again.” 

She brushes past him brusquely, wiping away at unshed tears and hoping he doesn’t follow her, because this is what she needs. Being angry with Jon is better than the other thing, because the other thing can break her. This, she understands. This, she can handle. 

The next morning, Sansa has her dad apparate her to Jeyne’s house down in Bristol. She tells her parents Jeyne just broke up with her (nonexistent) boyfriend and needs her. She tells them she’ll be back for the Christmas party with Jeyne and they don’t fight her on it. Maybe it’s the look in her eyes or the way her voice trembles as she speaks but thankfully, she’s there before ten and she doesn’t have to speak to Jon. She doesn’t know what he’s thinking nor does she particularly care right now. The pain in her chest is becoming more pronounced by the hour; each breath rocks her, and she _needs_ her best friend. She needs someone who is always going to be on her side no matter how stupid she’s been. 

So when Jeyne opens the door in surprise, Sansa throws herself at her friend, wrapping her arms around the other girl’s neck and sobs into her neck. Jeyne thankfully says nothing, just strokes her hair, and pulls her into the house. They spend the afternoon eating lemon cakes, watching muggle reality television and lying in her bed. When night finally falls around them, Jeyne turns over and fixes Sansa with a look.

“Talk.” 

“Jeyne…” 

“No, none of that,” she cuts off with a warning tone. It’s gentle but she’s serious. “You’ve been off for awhile now. And – and I understand that maybe what you’re going through isn’t easy to talk about but it’s doing more harm to you keeping it inside. What’s been going on with you, Sans? Please talk to me.” 

Tears spring to her eyes, for the umpteenth time that day, and Sansa turns her face away so she’s looking through Jeyne’s windows, catching twinkling stars dotting the murky night sky. The stars are sparse down her closer to the city. It’s beautiful up in Scotland where Stark manor is. 

“Last year,” Sansa begins in a shaky voice. “Joffrey – he hurt me. And he would’ve done more if Jon hadn’t come by.” Jeyne twines their fingers together in silent support. “It’s stupid. It’s so stupid because I was okay. I know it could’ve been so much worse and I’m so grateful nothing happened but… every time I close my eyes, he’s there. It’s like he’s stripped away my skin and I’m just so _raw_ all the time, so terrified of anyone touching me.” 

“Sansa,” Jeyne murmurs. She pulls Sansa closer and sighs. “I didn’t want to believe it. I’d hoped it was something else. I’m so sorry, Sans.”

This causes Sansa to turn around and gape at her friend. “You knew?” 

“No, but I had my suspicions.” Jeyne shakes her head, slow and sad. “He looks at you like he owns you, but he doesn’t. You have to know that. Don’t you?” 

“I – I don’t know,” Sansa says, ducking her head. 

Jeyne holds Sansa and rubs soothing circles on her back. They lie like that for some time, each lost to their own thoughts, and when Sansa feels the tension slowly give way to fatigue, she scoots back. “I got into a fight with Jon.” 

“Mhmm, is that why you’re here?” Jeyne asks. Her eyes are closed and her voice is far-off, sleepy. 

“I did something stupid and I snapped at him,” Sansa admits. “But he shouldn’t have…. I don’t know.” 

“Sans,” Jeyne says her name wearily as she blinks her eyes open. “You know that boy is in love with you, right?” 

The sleep suddenly disappears and Sansa bolts upright. She glares down at her best friend. “What? No! No, he doesn’t even… We’re not even friends.” She doesn’t believe that, not really, but she’s still so angry with Jon and she doesn’t know what they are. “And he has a girlfriend, Jeyne. Remember?”

“Details,” Jeyne snorts, waving it off. “Question is, how do _you_ feel about him?”

“I don’t feel anything,” she snaps a little too quickly. “He’s Jon. He’s… he’s just _Jon_.” 

Jeyne sits up now too so she can better fix Sansa with a bemused smirk. “Uhuh, just Jon. And if just Jon was single and willing, you’re telling me you wouldn’t snog the pants off that boy?” 

A flush rises up from her neck to her cheeks. “ _Jeyne_ , stop it. He’s not single and he’s not interested.” A beat later, and Sansa is scrambling to add, “not that I am. I’m not. I don’t think I’m even ready to… I haven’t kissed anyone since you know and I just… The thought of kissing someone makes my skin crawl.” 

“Okay, okay,” Jeyne soothes with a hand on Sansa’s forearm. “I get it. But I’m just saying, Sans, if you let your fears hold you back from what you want, you’re only letting Joffrey win. He doesn’t own you. You own yourself and you’re allowed to want someone.” She drops her head back onto the pillow and closes her eyes again, smiling. “And food for thought? Jon looks at you like you’re the sun. And whether you’ll admit it or not, you look at him like he’s the moon. It’s all bit sickening, to be honest.” 

She chuckles and Sansa swats at her arm before rolling her eyes and lying back down on the bed. She tries not to think about what Jeyne’s said but try as she might, she falls asleep to the flash of curly black hair and soft grey eyes. 

 


	11. Purpose

**Jon:**

The smell of beer is the first thing Jon notices as he enters the pub. It’s a familiar aroma though and it brings with it a peculiar ache in his chest at the memories now flashing before his mind. From where he stands at the entrance, he faces a long wooden bar where local patrons are milling about, chatting to the bartender and staring up at the football match playing on a tiny television above the bar. To his right, at the far corner, is a round table where Jon used to sit with the other Rangers after a gruelling shift. He wasn’t legal to drink but no one cared. The unspoken consensus was that Jon put his life on the line protecting the village so screw the law for a little while as he unwound with his fellow brothers. Jon glances to a little loveseat a couple has already claimed, but he can imagine Ygritte and him in their place. It’s been seven months since he ran into her here in this village – seven months since Jon started dating her. It’s hard to forget how easily it had been to fall for her in this place. It feels like he’s stepped into another world, but then that was what living in Dunbroch was like over the past summer. It was a world where he had Ygritte, his brothers and a reprieve of the grief of losing his only family. 

But it wasn’t real, and it’s taken him far too long to realise that. 

Jon walks towards the bar, orders two pints of coke and heads to a seat in the far back. He doesn’t have to wait long before Ygritte shows up, a smile on her lips as soon as she catches sight of him. She walks to him and leans forward to peck him on the lips, before settling into the seat opposite him.

“How’s your Christmas break been?” she asks conversationally. “Mine’s been dead boring, you know? Mum’s got a new boyfriend and, well, he’s alright. I like him but _seriously_ , accountants are boring.” She says all of this with a small, barely contained smile, and Jon knows she’s secretly thrilled. They’ve never talked about it – Ygritte doesn’t like to talk about her past – but he knows how difficult it had been for Ygritte to grow up with her mum’s abusive boyfriends. 

“It’s been okay,” Jon says but there’s no feeling to his words and she notices instantly. Her brows furrow slightly, prompting him to do this. It’s the right thing. “I don’t… I don’t know how to say this and I just want –”

“You’re breaking up with me,” Ygritte cuts off, nodding. She sighs and runs a hand through her long red hair. “Can’t say I didn’t see this coming.” She then laughs mirthlessly. 

“You… _what_?” 

Ygritte eyes him warily, as if to check if he’s just messing with her, but his confusion is genuine. “Merlin, Jon, you don’t see it, do you?” 

“See what?” 

“Nothing,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Just… Clearly, you had a bloody speech planned out so tell it.” 

It’s true. He definitely had a speech planned out but he hadn’t been looking forward to saying it. For a second, Jon hoped he didn’t have to but he owed Ygritte that much. He had to explain as best as he could his own jumbled thoughts. 

“Okay, I… Hold on,” Jon says, downing his pint and wishing it was alcohol. “When I met you this past summer, I was in a bad place. A really bad place. I’d just lost my mum and – and there were a lot of things I hadn’t figured out yet. But you were there and it was suddenly like I could breathe again.” He reaches forward for her hand, offering her a small smile. “You were what I needed, and in some ways, you still are, but… I, shit. This isn’t going how I wanted it to go.”

Ygritte laughs, and this time, there’s amusement in her laughter. She shakes her head. “Let me take pity on you, Jon,” she says. “Our relationship was a safe bubble for you and now the bubble is gone. Am I close?” 

“Something like that,” Jon sighs. “Doesn’t mean how I felt about you wasn’t real, but it’s not fair to you to keep going when I can’t be a hundred percent in this relationship.”

“I know,” she says. “You were using me.” 

“What, no! That’s not–”

“Jon,” Ygritte snaps, eyes narrowing. “I’m not stupid, okay? Every time you were fighting or avoiding the Starks, you’d come to me, but as soon as you got them back, I wasn’t a priority anymore. For awhile I thought it was just because of all of that Sansa stuff. And I wasn’t going to be the bad guy and tell you not to care about her because what she’s going through is awful.” She stops and takes a long sip of her own pint. “But it’s not just that, is it? You care about her.”

A cold shiver runs up his spine, and Jon wishes he hadn’t just downed his pint so he has something to do with his hands. “Of course I do. She’s family.”

Ygritte snorts. “No, I mean you _care_ about her. She’s your priority.” Seemingly unconvinced by Jon’s expression, she carries on. “Are you saying you wouldn’t drop everything and leave right now if Sansa was in trouble?” 

“I’d do that for anyone I care about.” 

“Yeah, yeah I guess you would,” she says with an abrupt laugh. “But you can’t deny it’s always going to be her over everyone else.” 

He doesn’t deny it but he doesn’t admit to it either because that’s too bloody complicated. Sansa isn’t just any other girl. He can’t just run off to her to confess his feelings, if he was brave enough to admit he had any, and considering what happened the last time they were together, Jon doesn’t think he’s her favourite person right now. In fact, he _knows_ he’s not, and quite frankly, he doesn’t blame her. He was an arse – a complete and utter twat. He yelled at her out of fear and she didn’t deserve that. He could understand why she ran after all; after what had almost happened in the cottage, he had been an arse to not just her, but Ygritte too. Somehow in this mess he called his life, Jon had hurt both girls, but he’s determined to put it right. Starting with Ygritte. 

“I’m sorry,” Jon eventually says. “I do care about you too. It wasn’t just… a safe bubble. I don’t think I can deny that I might’ve latched onto you in what probably was an unhealthy way but I never meant to deceive you like that. I would never –”

“Jon, I know,” Ygritte cuts him off again, growing increasingly exasperated. “I’m not blaming you so you don’t have to look like such a martyr. I’m just saying how it is from where I stand.” She smiles now, a slow genuine smile he still loves so much. “But do me a favour?” 

“Yeah, anything.”

“Don’t speak to me for awhile?” Ygritte says, expression serious. “I’m understanding but I’m not a bloody saint, alright? So just… give me space. I don’t hate you but you’re not exactly my favourite person right now either.” She gathers her things and stands up. “Have a nice Christmas, Jon.” 

He sits there for another ten minutes after she’s left to gather his thoughts. Jon hasn’t always been very good at expressing how he feels or even understanding those feelings, but that went better than he could’ve expected. Granted, he still feels like shit because there’s no other way about it. He hurt Ygritte and he hurt Sansa too. His inability to fully comprehend his own emotions led to this and it’s his own damn fault for letting it get away from him in such a big, horrible way. Jon didn’t deserve Ygritte, and he sure as hell doesn’t deserve Sansa. Not after what he said to her. Feelings or not, he’s going to stay away. That’s what she wanted from the start and Jon is going to respect that this time. 

Of course, when Jon finds himself standing in front of a different pub three days after he broke up with Ygritte, he’s suddenly desperate to owl Sansa. He’s not sure why he feels so nervous. He isn’t here for anything other than to quench his own curiosity, and to get it over with so he can move on, but he still wrings his hands in front of him as he stares up at the large, looming wooden sign, indicating it’s ‘The Horse and Peacock.’ He’s thankful at least it’s an inconspicuous pub in an inconspicuous part of London but apprehension grows steadily across his shoulders anyways. The very last thing Jon wants is to be seen here with her. The tabloids would have a field day. 

He steels himself for what’s about to transpire and pushes the door into the pub. It’s quieter than the one in Dunbroch and there’s a fresher scent here. Floral, he thinks, but he doesn’t have time to really dwell on it because abruptly he’s being accosted with white blonde hair and arms around his shoulders. 

“Oh, look at you, you are just so handsome, aren’t you?” she squeals delightedly. Jon opens his mouth to reply, to ask who the hell she is, though he knows, but he’s promptly stopped from speaking when a familiar shock of red steps into his view. “Your girlfriend’s been telling me so much about you!” 

_Girlfriend_? 

“Rhaenys,” Sansa begins with a shake of her head. 

“Come, sit down,” the white-haired woman says, pulling Jon over to a corner booth where a glass of red wine and a cloudy yellow drink he knows to be lemonade sit opposite one another. “We only just arrived so don’t worry about being,” she glances at a pristine white watch adorned with round-cut diamonds, “ten minutes late.” 

Jon flushes. He doesn’t like being late but he did this on purpose. He didn’t want to be waiting for her. “Sorry,” he mumbles, and finally, once he is sat down in a chair he’s pulled to the end of the table, he allows himself to glance over at Sansa. She’s avoiding his gaze and her lips are pursed tightly together. He wants to ask her why she’s here but he doesn’t have a chance because Rhaenys is speaking rapidly again.

“Gosh, you know, I really didn’t know what to expect when I sent off that letter,” Rhaenys admits, smiling brightly. “But a letter back and a meeting with you _and_ your girlfriend is more than I could’ve hoped for.” 

There it is again. _Girlfriend_. Why does she think that?

“I think you’re mistaken, I’m not –” 

“We’re not dating,” Sansa interrupts, and because he knows her so well, he recognises the hardness to her words and it makes his chest ache. “I told you this, Rhaenys.” 

The woman doesn’t look concerned with this minor misunderstanding. She just shrugs. “Girl that is Jon’s friend then,” Rhaenys amends with a twinkling smile, too innocent for her personality, and that’s only after knowing her for less than five minutes. “So,” she drawls out. “Tell me all about my little brother.” 

Jon stiffens at the term. “I… We’re...” 

“Jon’s captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team,” Sansa answers for her him, sending him an exasperated sigh. “He was the youngest to be named so in a long time. Or so I’m told.” For a second, she blushes prettily, something that makes his heart warm at how he could pretend in that moment she didn’t hate him. “I don’t actually know anything about quidditch. It always seemed so… barbaric.”

Rhaenys throws her head back and laughs before grabbing hold of Sansa’s hand from across the table. “Thank Merlin you said it! I thought I was the only one in this bloody country to think that.” 

“Really?” Sansa asks, and she’s beaming brightly. 

“Yeah! It’s _completely_ barbaric, isn’t it? A bunch of grown men and women batting heavy balls at each other at stupid, crazy speeds.” Rhaenys snorts at the imagery she just painted. 

“It’s _not_ barbaric,” Jon finally interrupts the two of them. “It’s athleticism at its finest. It’s competition and drive and skill.” 

“Yeah but you still hit each other with steel balls,” Rhaenys points out. 

And that sets the tone for the rest of the afternoon. It becomes surprisingly easy to talk to Rhaenys and he thinks it’s in thanks to Sansa. She fills in the conversation when he struggles to find the appropriate thing to say. She soothes over Rhaenys’ words when his blunt and unfiltered half-sister crosses the line into territories he’s not ready to deal with. It makes him wonder in those couple of hours if she’s forgiven him, if they’re okay again, but he knows he expected too much when they’re saying goodbye to Rhaenys, promising her they’d owl and meet up soon, and Sansa abruptly turns from him and walks down the opposite alley. 

Jon rushes after her. “Sans. Sansa, wait!” 

She does stop but she doesn’t make a move to turn to face him. He stops too, waiting, not wanting to crowd her personal space after what happened last week. Finally, she turns and there’s an angry flush to her cheeks. 

“I told you I’d support you,” Sansa says through gritted teeth. “I promised you I would and I don’t break a promise, Jon. But this changes nothing.” 

“I… understand,” Jon tells her after a long second of silence. He doesn’t know what else he can say. He hurt her, he knows that, and he said things he shouldn’t have, but it’s still hard to be this close to her and not be able to be near her. That hurts the most, he thinks, because at the end of the day, this is _Sansa_ and she deserves much more than him, as a friend, as – whatever. 

“For the record, I am sorry.” 

Her eyes soften. “I know.” 

And then she walks away from him, and the sadistic part of him doesn’t let him move from where he stands, just watching her leave his life, knowing that this is it because Jon’s not going to go after her this time. 

\-----

**Sansa:**

“Stop _shoving_ me!” 

“Well, I’d stop if you’d quit hogging the bloody mirror, Princess Stark!” 

Sansa stumbles to the floor as Jeyne elbows her in the side. She rolls her eyes from where she sits, glaring up at her supposed best friend, who is currently trying to plait her hair into an updo she saw in Witch Weekly. It’s going surprisingly well considering how Jeyne only had an image to work with but that also means Sansa is currently left with one half-done eye. It’s not the end of the world in retrospect but Sansa is irritable and nervous. Tonight is the night of her family’s annual Christmas party. It’s bad enough that most of the night will consist of fake smiling and making polite conversation with her parent’s friends, but she _knows_ Joffrey is going to be there and that is enough to leave her anxious. 

Although that’s not the only reason and she hates that it’s not because she’s giddy with nerves over seeing Jon tonight. Pathetic, she knows, especially considering she’s still mad at him but her body is determined to betray her by fluttering every time she thinks about him. It hasn’t even been that long since she’s seen him but they’ve been actively avoiding each other since meeting Rhaenys. 

“Do you think Theon’s going to get naked again this year?” Jeyne asks, eyes dancing at the possibility, and Sansa laughs. It’s hard not to. She may not particularly like the boy but he is as amusing as idiots get. “I hope he does. I brought my digital camera.” 

Sansa shakes her head. “You’re going to have quality blackmail material by the end of the night, aren’t you?” 

“Hey, not all of us were born into rich pureblood families,” Jeyne says, smirking. “I got to make my money somewhere.”

“You’re evil.”

“I’m smart.” 

They bicker like this for the next half hour as they ready themselves for the ensuing night but the easy camaraderie they have comes to a screeching halt when Arya bursts through the door, looking half-crazed. 

“He’s coming!” Arya shouts, even though the two girls are only a couple feet away. “I didn’t think he’d come! But he’s coming and, oh my Godric, Gendry is actually coming!” 

Sansa immediately takes her sister by the shoulders and shakes her. “Arya, Arya, calm down. Isn’t this what you wanted?” 

“What?” Grey eyes snap to Sansa, and suddenly a frown grows steadily on her face. “This is all your fault! If I hadn’t listened to you, I would just be getting ready for another stupid party but now I’m getting ready for another stupid party knowing that the guy I fancy that I don’t want to fancy is going to be there, and did you know Robb and Theon’s hidden mistletoes everywhere?” 

This proves too much for Jeyne, as she bursts into hysterics behind Sansa. She whips around to fix a pointed glare at her friend, but Jeyne is beyond reproach now. She has both her hands on her knees, howling like a banshee. This only serves to upset Arya more. 

“Shut your face, Poole, before I do it for you!” 

“Arya Stark, your threats stopped scaring me years ago,” Jeyne points out, wiping tears that have actually spilled over. “Besides, between Sansa and me, who do you think is the most qualified to help you here?”

Arya looks at Sansa for a long scrutinising second before she shrugs. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Hey!” 

“Roll back the indignant hurt, Sans,” Jeyne says with a wave. “You haven’t been on a date in forever, and you’re in flat out denial over who you fancy, so _really_ , I’m the best choice the little Stark has right now.” 

“Firstly,” Arya says, as she steps up into Jeyne’s space. She points one finger at the other girl. “I am _not_ little, and secondly,” she turns back to Sansa. “You fancy someone?” 

“No!” she immediately cries out. “I don’t. Jeyne is just… She’s crazy. Haven’t we established this years ago?” 

Arya considers her answer and then shakes her head. “Yes, she’s crazy but… who do you like? Tell me. I told you about Gendry!” 

Sansa is saved from answering when Rickon knocks on the door and pokes his head inside. “You guys have ten minutes before the guests arrive. Bye,” he tells them in his most bored monotone. 

There’s a mad scramble as Arya starts shouting at Jeyne to help, and Sansa lets out a breath of relief as soon as she’s managed to slip out the door. There are already guests downstairs from the amount of noise filtering up to the second floor. Her mum is certainly in full-out hostess mode, and Sansa decides it’s in her best interest to veer away from the main hall in case she gets roped into conversation with politicians. The corridor she takes leads her down past her father’s study. Expecting it to be empty, Sansa freezes as loud, angry voices escape from the ajar room. 

“Ned, I’m telling you this for your own good.” The voice is familiar, but it’s not one Sansa can readily recognise, yet she knows it so well. “If you accept this position, you will be met with only hostility.” 

“And if I don’t, I will be losing the opportunity to make real changes,” her father replies steadily, loud but firm. 

“We are not at war. Your brand of honour has no place in London. It’s not the same place you once knew, Ned. Things have changed.”

“So you want me to turn my cheek because things might get rough? What kind of lesson would that be for my children?” 

Sansa feels pride swell in her chest at his words. Once when she was a small, naive child dreaming of bigger and brighter things, her father’s frank view of the world and steadfast immovability had made her wrinkle her nose in distaste. She wanted loud, brash and colourful opinions; she wanted to see the world change as it happened. But in her darkest moments, her father’s unwavering strength was what she drew upon to face each day. 

“But you’ll have them see their name ruined?”the voice demands. “Because that is what will happen, Ned. People you once considered friends will turn on you.”

“Let them. I have my family and that’s all I need.” 

“And what of Brandon?” 

Silence falls thickly in the study. Sansa leans her ear closer to the opening gap in case she might miss something important, but neither have spoken. She tries to rack her brain over what they could possibly mean. It must be about the late uncle she never knew, but what about him could draw such tension over her father? 

“Who knows?” His voice comes out tired and wary, like a switch has been flipped, replacing the strong, confident man in there with one burdened by some invisible force. It worries Sansa so much her body tightens with trepidation. 

“Only those that were there,” the man says slowly. “But I urge you to rethink your friendship with Robert. You place far too much trust in him.”

“We’re _friends_. And he has kept this secret for many years.”

“Yes, but he is also married to a Lannister and she has something planned. Her and that snake of a father of hers.” 

“Howland, I trust him.” 

“Just heed my warning, Ned.” 

There’s movement inside, and Sansa quickly turns from the door and runs back towards the party. Her mind whirs with questions. What secret is her father hiding? What happened with Uncle Brandon? And what does Cersei have planned that could hurt her family? She twists and turns them over and over again in her mind. 

If the Lannisters are planning something, then it can’t be anything good. Nothing _good_ has ever come from a Lannister, of that she is one hundred percent sure. 

Deep in her thoughts, Sansa rounds the corner and walks straight into a hard body, stumbling back in her heels. Her eyes flicker up as a hand reaches out to steady her. “Careful, Sansa,” he says, sneering as he does so. “You’ll hurt yourself.” The words are laced with hidden meaning; it’s almost pathetic to her now how predictable Joffrey is. 

“Thank you,” she says, resolving herself to play nice. She may not be able to stomach any prolonged proximity to Joffrey, but if his family is up to something, Sansa can use him to find out. “You look nice, Joffrey.” The words taste bitter on her tongue, like poison dripping with rotting, putrid acid. 

His eyes widen in surprise and he lets go abruptly, as if worried she could taint him somehow. “Yeah, well,” he begins with uncertainty, and Sansa feels smug over throwing Joffrey off balance, but he recovers quickly. “I always look nice.” 

He’s probably thinking he’s reeling her back in by not complimenting her, but Sansa no longer craves his validation, or that of boys like him. She’s stronger now, exhilarated with renewed purpose. She will take down the Lannisters one way or another. 

“Are you enjoying the party?” Sansa asks, effectively changing the topic. “I didn’t see you arrive. Did you come with your parents?”

Joffrey still looks perturbed by her sudden friendliness, but he shrugs. “Yeah, mum and dad are somewhere in there. I bloody hate these dumb parties.” His eyes rake over her, and Sansa steels herself from the involuntary shudder running up her spine. “Why don’t we get out of here? Find somewhere quiet to,” he fingers the strap of her dress, his cold touch drawing across her bare skin, “ _reacquaint_ ourselves?” 

Disgust rages through her like a snowstorm. She longs to ram her palm against his nose and feel the way it breaks under her own strength, but now is not the time. “I need to greet guests,” Sansa lies, as she offers a smile. 

No matter how much she’ll need Joffrey to get to his mother, Sansa can’t bring herself to flirt back, if only to manipulate him. It sickens her to her stomach, and the scared girl inside wails in protest at the thought. She sidesteps him and speeds through the corridor back to the thrum of people. The farther she gets, the faster her body unclenches, relief finally washing over her when she spots her brother. 

“Oh Sans, there you are,” Robb says with a bright smile. He wraps an arm around her shoulders. “We were wondering where you went. Jeyne said you came down early.” 

“I was hiding,” she explains, which isn’t a total lie, and it makes her brother laugh, so she smiles too. “Mum says you invited way too many people again.”

Robb rolls his eyes. “She’s exaggerating.” 

“Robb, can I ask you something?” The question or maybe it’s the tone of her voice has her brother looking down at her with concern. “It’s nothing _bad_. I was just – do you remember Uncle Brandon?”

Surprise colours his face. “Uh, not really. He died when I was a baby, Sans. I wouldn’t even be able to tell you what he looks like if not for the photos, you know?” 

“Right,” Sansa nods, because she knows this. “It’s just… Dad never talks about him.” 

“I think it still hurts Dad to talk about Uncle Brandon,” her brother explains. “Whatever happened really took a toll on him.” 

“Yeah, yeah I know,” she shakes her head and offers a smile. “So which punch did you and Theon spike?” 

The night wears on, and Sansa doesn’t see or speak to Joffrey again. She lingers close to her brother, allowing his presence to calm her when she catches the fair-haired boy staring at her from across the room. She knows he’s only waiting to catch her alone, but Sansa has no intention of engaging with Joffrey again tonight. 

To their delight, Theon _does_ get drunk, but he doesn’t strip naked as Jeyne had hoped. He still makes a fool of himself as he waxes on and on about his plans to commandeer one of his father’s ships and sail the world. They all think he’s going to die within the first twenty minutes alone, but apparently, the sea is in his blood and they’re all ‘wankers’ for being unsupportive. 

At a quarter past eleven, Sansa slips away from her friends. She used to love these parties, but they drain on her now more than anything else. Even surrounded by her family and friends, it’s too much for her to handle sometimes. She reaches the kitchen entryway just as Jon does, apparently having already slipped outside as she now plans to do too.

He stares at her for a long second before smiling faintly. “You look beautiful.” 

Sansa doesn’t need his validation either, and it’s not the compliment that has her heart suddenly beating like a hummingbird’s wings, as she flutters desperately to keep afloat. It’s the way his grey eyes soften as he looks at her; the way it just lingers on her face, like she could be wearing a ratty old t-shirt and he would still call her beautiful. 

“Thank you,” is all she can manage however, because Jon is still _Jon_. He is still off-limits; he is still the one person she knows she relies on too much to save her, and Sansa refuses to be the damsel in his story. 

But all that dissolves from her mind when his cheeks suddenly flush pink and Sansa is captivated by the groan that leaves his mouth. “Bloody Robb,” he mutters on a sigh. She arches her brow in question, waiting for him to explain himself, but all Jon does is gesture to something above them.

An inconspicuous mistletoe hangs mockingly from the doorframe. Sansa curses her brother too now under her breath. 

“It’s a dumb tradition,” she tells him, because she is _not_ going to kiss a taken boy. She is no one’s other woman. 

“Aye,” Jon nods solemnly. “As dumb as your brother.” His faint smile turns triumphant when she lets out a breathy chuckle. “But traditions are meant to be kept, m’lady.” He bows his head, a reticent smile on his lips, before leaning forward. His movements are slow enough that she can move away if she wants to, but Sansa is transfixed, by his eyes, his lips, the way his body feels so warm so close to hers, and she hates herself for how disappointed she is when his lips touch her forehead. 

Jon lingers for a second, his exhale of breath brushing over her skin. “Merry Christmas, Sansa,” he murmurs as he draws back, and leaves her standing alone in the doorway. 

She hates him. She hates him for all the reasons why she can’t have him. 


	12. Lionheart

**Sansa:**

Sansa slips outside and relishes in the sharp crispness of winter cooling her heated skin. She touches the back of her hand to her cheeks and lets out a loud sigh. It shouldn’t be so easy for Jon to have this effect on her. They haven’t even been friends for that long, but looking back at their time together over the past few months, Sansa has to wonder if they were ever _just_ friends. At least on her end, she isn’t sure if she ever saw him as she does Sam or even Theon. Jon has always been _more_. Even before Joffrey, a part of her has always always placed him in a compartment that was separate from everyone else. Not quite family; not quite friend.

But he isn’t hers to have. He never really was.

The grounds are intermittently lit by wicker torches that float just a foot above the iced-over ground, but the Stark property is so vast that the darkness still feels like a weight on her shoulders. It’s eery, but Sansa pushes the uneasy feeling to the back of her mind, including her unresolved feelings for a certain dark-haired boy. She tries instead to think about the conversation she overheard earlier that evening, the one between her father and who she now knows to be Howland Reed. He isn’t a man Sansa is terribly familiar with, but he’s been a staple presence during most of the Stark functions that she at least recognises him. Another pureblood house from old money, but one that has always sworn fealty to the Starks. Not that that really matters these days, but even in an age where there are no lords or ladies, the loyalty these families have to hers are so interweaved into their very existence that Sansa knows they’d follow her father to the end of the world if he asked.

She thinks it probably has a great deal to do with her father as a person as well. Ned inspires loyalty unlike anyone she’s ever seen. People trust him; people are willing to fight tooth and nail to make sure he’s always voted into office in their constituency; so if there is a plot to somehow desecrate his name, Sansa wants to know. She may not be as brave as her siblings, but she’s always been intuitive and she knows she can manipulate Joffrey if she chose to.

Sansa stops walking, realising she had somehow drifted to the edge of the woods that border her family’s property, but it’s not the location that startles her. It’s the abrupt silence the befalls the entire world. No rustling of leaves, no crickets chirping in the night, not even a bird fluttering its wings. A slow shiver of dread whispers up her spine, like icy fingers tapping against her skin. Sansa stares into the vast blackness of the woods, unable to see much beyond the dim circle of orange light coming from a nearby torch. There is nothing she can see, only skeletal shapes of trees with its long naked limbs. She has the sudden urge to run and escape, flee before something dreadful befalls her, but Sansa is rooted to the spot. Perhaps she is as brave as her siblings or maybe she’s just dumb enough to stand there.

Seconds tick by in excruciating slow fashion, the silence swallowing her nerves bit by bit. Sansa’s mind is a whir of thoughts, running from one worst case scenario to the next, and it is a testament to her stupidity (or bravery) that she somehow remains still through it all.

Then as if something had just opened its eyes, two glowing red orbs levitate some dozen feet off the ground in the distance. They are the only things she can see and she knows it’s watching her, as if waiting for _her_ to make a move. Sansa sucks in a breath, heart feeling like lead in her chest, the weight of her fear so paralysing all she can do is stare back, when a voice chills her that has nothing to do with the creature.

“Alone at last.”

She grits her teeth. “You should go back to the party.”

“And why would I do that?” Joffrey laughs, a sound so devoid of any goodwill it makes her curl her hands into fists, wanting for any provocation to punch him like Ygritte had showed her. “I finally have you to myself without your idiot brother and your bastard boyfriend around to bother us.”

_Bastard boyfriend?_

“Jon’s not my boyfriend,” she says, not really sure why _that_ is the comment that she focuses on. Defence mechanism? Maybe it’s easier to focus on that than to focus on the implication of Joffrey’s words.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Joffrey scoffed, disdain in his voice. “The cunt looks at you like you’re something precious.” He’s reached her by this point, his fingers now gripping tightly onto her jaw, pressing bruises into her skin. “But we both know that’s not true, don’t we, love? You’re _nothing_.”

Sansa jerks her face away from his hand and fixes him with her most repulsed scowl. “I think you should leave. _Now_.”

Joffrey laughs again, this time louder and more unhinged than before. “And what are you going to do about it? Who’s here to protect you this time?” He steps closer and Sansa involuntarily tenses.

“I don’t need anyone to protect me,” Sansa says firmly. She lifts her chin up in defiance. She is not a little bird. She will not be intimidated by cowardly lions. “But maybe you should be the one that needs protecting, so why don’t you run along to your mum, huh? It’s what you do best.”

Anger flares in his eyes, and when this is all over, she’ll look back and reprimand herself for the childish taunt, but in the moment, she feels only satisfaction in getting a rise out of him. And that’s when she realises that for the first time in months, Sansa’s not scared.

“You little bitch!” Joffrey snarls and reaches to grab her, but Sansa quickly darts out of the way. “You’re going to regret that.” He steps forward again and catches her by the wrist before she can fully get away from him, but before Joffrey can do anything, there’s a loud, thundering growl that prickles the hair at the nape of her neck.

They both turn around, their faces a mixture of comical fright and disbelief when the creature emerges from the darkness. Towering over their heads, it stands on its haunches, purple eyes fixed unwaveringly at them, as its obsidian wings flap noiselessly behind it. Joffrey whimpers beside her and drops her hand swiftly to begin backing away, but the movement catches its eyes and it lets out another blood-curdling growl.

Sansa isn’t the brightest in her Care of Magical Creatures class, but she’s Scottish and every Scotsman knows of the Hebridean Blacks. From the arrow-shaped spike on its tail to the sharp ridges along its back, these dragons are a figurehead of the Scottish wizarding community. They represent the steadfastness of its people, the strength and resilience, and the staunch patriotism.

But as its name would indicate, these dragons are native to the Hebrides and they are nowhere near the Scottish isles. What is one doing so far away from its habitat?

“My mother will hear of this!” Joffrey whispers harshly. “She’ll know you’re harbouring a dragon on your property and you’ll all be jailed!”

As if in tandem, both Sansa and the dragon let out an irritated growl.

“You won’t do any such thing,” Sansa snarls. She steps forward towards Joffrey with the dragon flanking her, though in a distant part of her mind that she is thoroughly compartmentalising, she is very aware of the aggressive nature of Hebridean Blacks above other dragons and more than terrified herself. “Because the moment you open your mouth, I’ll tell your dad exactly what your mum is planning to undermine his best friend.”

Joffrey’s eyes widen and his mouth gapes open. “How do you know about that!”

It’s a bluff on her end. She has no idea what Cersei is planning and whether or not Robert is clued in at all, but after so many months of dating Joffrey and being subject to his mum’s unrelenting scrutiny, she’s positive Robert is clueless to his wife’s ministrations. Cersei is underhanded, manipulative and operates in the shadows far more than her brash and boisterous husband. There is certainly no love between the two and Robert is loyal to her father above his own family.

“You think you’re so smart because you grew some backbone, but if your father accepts this job, it’ll be his undoing. Trust me, sweet Sansa,” Joffrey says, but the severity of his words is undercut by the flicker of apprehension and fear in his eyes as he looks between Sansa and the dragon. “And when it does, you’ll be begging me to take you back.”

Sansa’s hand clenches. “ _Piss off_ , Joffrey.” As if in cahoots with her, the dragon steps forward, frightening and tall. But it has the desired effect as Joffrey scampers off with his tail between his legs.

As soon as the door to the kitchen clicks shut behind him, Sansa inhales deeply for courage and slowly turns, angling her face upwards to look at it. That’s when she notices its wings. Although half the size of a fully grown Hebridean Black, its wings are abnormally small, mangled as if its bones hadn’t grown in quite the way it should.

“What happened to you?” she whispers, careful to keep her voice soothing and calm. “Did someone do this to you?”

The dragon tilts its head to the side, like a dog would, and then lets out a hot puff of air, steam curling from its nostrils. It pivots on its hind legs and drops to the ground on all fours before walking back into the woods. As it disappears into the darkness, Sansa exhales half in relief and half in anger.

Although dragons are classified as XXXXX Beasts and are illegal to own outside of a sanctuary, there are still wizards and witches across the globe that trap them like circus animals or use them for monetary gain. Dragon eggs are after all heavily desired commodities in the black market. It’s a problem that doesn’t really affect Scotland, but she’s heard her father talk recently about a sudden spike in dragon dealers over the years that has them worried. Sansa wonders if this dragon might have escaped from such an owner.

There has to be a way to help it – someone with experience dealing with…

_Oh, of course._

**Jon:**

After the guests have all left and Ned and Catelyn have retired to their own rooms, Robb and Theon break into the liquor cabinet and get even more sloshed than before. Eventually, Theon _does_ get naked and he’s immediately racing towards the fountain with the rest of them following after him, laughter ringing in the night.

Robb has his arm draped around Margaery, as she looks on with fond amusement, a smirk still on her lips from when Robb stumbled and nearly fell flat on his face.

Arya is there too, but she’s off to the side of the group with that big Hufflepuff beater beside her. She’s lucky Robb is too drunk to notice his baby sister canoodling with a boy and Jon is not nearly as overprotective as Robb is; although he does keep a keen eye on the pair. He may be okay with Gendry, but it doesn’t mean he’ll condone any funny business between the bull and his pseudo-sister.

“I don’t know why you’re all laughing,” Theon shouts with reckless abandon, and Jon thanks Merlin for the lack of neighbours and the sound-proofed manor. “You all need to get on my level, alright? It’s a beautiful night to go skinny dipping!”

“It’s bloody freezing, you moron,” Robb shouts back, now leaning heavily on Margaery, who barely bats an eye at the added weight. “Or have ya not noticed the fucking snow?”

Jon glances up towards the midnight sky. There are indeed flakes of snow drifting down over them.

“And aren’t you a Northerner? Aren’t you supposed to be _impervious_ to the cold? ” Theon taunts. “Always knew you Scottish bastards were all bunch of pansy arses.”

Robb glowers, too drunk to realise what Theon is doing and falling easily to his provocation. If there are two things in the world guaranteed to get a rise out of Robb, it’s messing with his family and insulting Scotland. He throws his arm off of Margaery and stalks forward, one finger pointed at the Slytherin, who is now currently splashing around in the large granite fountain at the front of the manor. “How very _dare you_?” Robb pulls off his jumper and chucks it to the side. “I am a Scotsman and _we_ are more manly than any of you English pricks!”

“I take full offence,” Sam murmurs, as he catches up to Jon. “But don’t tell him I said that. He might try to get me to go into the fountain with him.”

Jon snorts because it’s very likely.

The eldest Stark is in the middle of taking off his trousers to the shouts and cheers from their friends when her voice rings out over the din of noise. “ _Robb Stark_ , _you put your clothes back on right this instant! I will not spend my last couple weeks of Christmas with a sick you!_ ”

Her voice is immediately followed by another’s. “Oh shit, Theon got naked? Hold on! I have my camera!”

Robb groans, but stops. He pouts as he turns to face her. Jon stays facing the fountain, however; he’s still too wound up from that one dumb kiss to fully function around her. He feels her come closer, her feet swiftly padding along the cobblestone. Jon wants to wrap her in his arms and kiss her again, this time on the damned lips instead of chickening out and kissing her forehead.

But as soon as the thought enters his head, he squashes it down. Not going to happen. Sansa made that abundantly clear.

“Awe, Sans! C’mon! Theon insulted my manhood!”

Sansa goes to stand next to Margaery and the two girls exchange exaggerated eye-rolls, while Jeyne runs forward, camera shutter clicking away as Theon strikes a variety of ridiculous poses for her.

“I don’t care,” she tells him. “We all know what happens when you get sick, which you will if you don’t put your clothes back on.”

Arya pipes up as she joins the group, Gendry still closely attached to her side. “He wouldn’t stop whining for a week. We had to _spoonfeed_ him soup and – _ugh_ , wipe his nose for him.”

“I’m a _man_ ,” Robb whines. “I don’t need to be taken care of!”

“Uhuh,” Sansa nods, putting her hands on her hips. “Really? So if you get sick, you’ll just fend for yourself then? I’ll tell mum not to –”

Robb groans and then slowly, _begrudgingly_ starts pulling his clothes back on, and as soon as Sam starts laughing, Jon does too, because there’s nothing funnier than when someone points out how much of a mummy’s boy Robb is.

“Fuck off all of you!” he huffs, stomping back towards the house, Margaery’s hand clasped in his, but she’s laughing as well and his scowl deepens.

Jeyne is still clicking away at Theon as Gendry and Arya are throwing out different poses for the idiot, so Jon swallows his pride and walks up to her. “Hey,” he nudges her shoulder with his. Sansa looks up, blue eyes still so piercing even at night, or maybe they’re more so under the twinkling of the lights above, Jon can’t tell. “Well done there.”

Sansa snorts. “I might not know how to control my own life, but I do know how to control Robb’s.”

“He’s not a hard egg to crack,” Jon says, and to that, she laughs, a pretty soft sound. It makes everything okay just for that one second.

“Jon?” Sansa says quietly. “Can I speak to you for a second? In private?”

His heart immediately starts quickening its pace, anxious, terrified and excited all in one fell swoop, but Jon forces himself to remain calm and nods. She offers him a small smile as she walks back towards the house. Jon glances at his friends, but they’re still too preoccupied to notice if he’s missing, so he follows without another word. They don’t speak as she leads him through the house, past the foyer, past Ned’s study, to the kitchen and then out the door into the backyard. She walks straight up to his cottage and waits for him.

Jon unlocks the door and lets her in, thankful he’s normally a very tidy person, and Ghost instantly comes bounding over to jump onto her person. Sansa laughs loudly, rubbing the great big dog under the ears and placing a kiss on the top of his head. Jon has never been more jealous of his dog than in that moment.

“Um… make yourself comfortable,” he murmurs awkwardly, standing to the side. Sansa gives him a little nod and makes her way to the bed, settling herself down with Ghost right beside her. “So what is it that you wanted to talk to me about?”

Sansa looks nervous, which makes _him_ nervous. “When you were… away last summer, Robb said you worked with the Rangers?”

“Yeah, um… I did. Why do you ask?”

“Jon, I saw the creature,” she says quickly. “It’s a dragon. A Hebredean Black, but only a baby. I think it was born with deformed wings or maybe it was abused. It’s hurt and it can’t fly away. We have to help it, Jon! We can’t just let it wither and die here. And Joffrey knows and he’s going to bring Ministry people and they’re probably going to just put it down or something!”

“Woah, woah,” Jon rushes to her side to kneel in front of her, forgetting about the space that had been between them before, to grip her hands gently. “Hey, Sans, _breathe_. Now… start from the beginning.”

Of all the ways he’d wanted to touch Sansa tonight, this isn’t it, but her hands still feel _right_ in his and his presence seems to be calming her down and for now, that’s all that matters.

Jon listens patiently to her story, resisting the urge to growl like Ghost any time Joffrey is mentioned, and he waits until she’s finally done to get up and sit beside her.

“Bloody hell,” he murmurs, to which she snorts in agreement. “I mean shit, wow… I guess I can owl my old boss and see what they can do.”

“He can’t tell the Ministry, Jon,” she grabs at his hands, squeezing tightly. “Cersei will get her hands on it. She’ll make sure the dragon’s killed before it gets to a sanctuary.”

“Sansa,” he angles his body towards her and implores her to see the conviction in his words. “I _promise_. You can trust me.”

“I know,” she smiles feebly. “That’s why I came to you.”

Standing abruptly, Sansa ruffles Ghost’s head and walks towards the door. “I should get to bed. Jeyne will be looking for me.” She hesitates for a second, her hand lingering on the door frame as she looks back at him. “Thank you, Jon. For all of this. I know we’re…” Sansa shakes her head and smiles. “ _Thank you_.”

Watching her walk away this time doesn’t hurt as much as it did last time, but it still feels off. And this situation he’s now in feels even worse. If Joffrey goes to his mum like Sansa predicts he will then… well, nothing good ever comes from going against a Lannister.


End file.
